Mission: Draco Malfoy
by EternalOphelia
Summary: CH 22 HrDr. Formerly And Life Goes On. After 6th book, 1 yr after the war is over, good side won, but at many costs. Our friends are Aurors for the Ministry and live comfortably. Until, that is, Hermione is given a seemingly simple task. RR!
1. Prologue

This fic is after the sixth book, taking place several years after the war is over and the good side won, but had many, many losses.

I know I have two other fics, but both are giving me trouble (I get a lot of writer's block). Be assured that I plan to finish them, and this one, only it'll take longer. I just couldn't not do this story :)

* * *

Chapter 1: Prologue

"Draco!" she screamed, scrambling towards him. But a powerful spell caught her, and she crashed to the hard ground, moaning loudly.

"I'm coming!" he called after her. He ran, his legs weak and trembling, his wand broken clean in half.

Smoke curled and suffocated them. Witches and wizards a like screamed and cursed and fell to the ground. It was the end of the world and all Draco wanted to do was make sure she was ok, that she was still alive and had a chance.

_She can't die!_ he thought selfishly. _We have a baby! She can't leave me!_

"Draco," she whispered as he grabbed her hand, pulling her against him. But she could barely breathe.

"Don't talk," he commanded, his eyes scanning her body. Was she seriously hurt? He couldn't tell. And, without his wand, he was helpless to heal her. "Come on." He lifted her thin body easily off the ground, cradling her in his arms. She wheezed and groaned, but made no attempt to speak. They reached a clearing, the smoke slight and harmless. He set her gently on the dry ground. "Do you hurt?"

"Take care of her," she whispered, smiling up at him. "Don't let them have her."

"You're not going to die," he snapped. But he was not angry. Not in the least. He was more terrified than he'd even been in his entire life. How was he supposed to raise their daughter without her? He didn't know the first thing about kids! Let alone babies! "I'm bringing you—"

"Draco, listen to me." Her voice was harder, but not by much. She had never been an exceedingly powerful witch. "I won't make it as far as you have to take me. Your wand is broken and mine is lost."

"Damn it!" he hissed. He wanted to call for help, to yell for someone to come to their aid. But there was no one out there, lurking in the forest, that could or would help them. They were enemies to both sides, renegades. And she was dying.

"Kiss me," she said, her large brown eyes fluttering.

He leaned in and captured her lips, feeling her wet salt tears press into his skin. He knew she wasn't crying because she was afraid to die, but because she knew what she would miss out on. Their daughter was an infant, and she would never see her first steps, or hear her first word, or witness the first time she used magic.

"Love her the way you could never love me." And there was nothing insulting in her words.

"I will," he said, and right then and there his life changed forever. "I promise."

She smiled and closed her eyes.

* * *

The war couldn't have been more horrible, disastrous, more bloody or more victorious. The side of good had prevailed, but as such a great and terrible cost. Voldemort was gone, but so were so many others, so many brilliant and powerful witches and wizards. It had been Harry Potter, as prophesized, who delivered the final blow, sending Voldemort into the afterlife once and for all. All Horcruxes gone, all traces of him blown to the wind and beyond.

Life was unstable for more than a year after the war (which had lasted nearly three years), with homes and lives destroyed. Everything had to be rebuilt from scratch. And some very important muggle ties had to be re-formed. The Ministry lost very valuable assets, and so the young new graduates of Hogwarts took varying positions.

Harry and his closest friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, were to name a few. Throughout the war they had studied their subjects—being practically forced by Hermione and Mrs. Weasley—and when the war was over all they had to do was pass their N.E.W.Ts and they were able to obtain Ministry jobs. And all three decided to pursue careers as Aurors, being some of the top of their class with all their wartime experience.

Jobs were also—unfortunately—given to some less than deserving members of the Wizarding World. Those who fought on the losing side, or newly "switched over". But it wasn't like they had a choice. They were too many positions and not enough people. In the end the "winners" had to bite their tongues and accept their co-workers with a smile.

Since their years at Hogwarts, the "Golden Trio" has grown and matured a great deal. In the three years of the war, Hermione and Ron started seeing each other, and subsequently got married. But when the war was over, and they were alone in their room at The Burrow (having little to no money for their own home after the war), things began to change. It didn't take them long to realize that they made a mistake in marrying, and a few months later they got a mutual divorce. Mrs. Weasley was devastated to say the least. But she couldn't stay mad for long, seeing how much happier they were as just friends. And besides, she had other things to celebrate. Harry and Ginny got back together and were now in the process of planning their wedding.

* * *

"God fucking damn it," the blond-haired man swore, climbing out of his too-big bed. He rubbed his face, then shook his head to clear his mind. Would he never be free from his haunting dreams? From those horrid memories? It was not only a reminder of the death of his wife, but that he was now on the "good" side, persecuted night and day by both the winning side and the losing, for there were still many around.

"Daddy!"

He turned sharply towards the door to find a small dark-haired, olive-skinned girl no older than six. She had eyes like both him and her mother, a mixture of brown and gray that created a creamy light brown. She was gorgeous.

Before he knew it, she was in his arms, her tiny hands in his hair.

"What happened?" he asked. She was trembling.

"There's something in my dresser," she cried, clinging to him harder.

He sighed with relief. It was probably just a boggart or something.

"Do you want me to get it?"

She leaned back, tears in her eyes, and nodded.

"Wait here, alright?"

"Yes, daddy."

He walked out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him, and then let out a long string of curses. Not that he didn't want to make his daughter feel better, to ease her fear, but today was supposed to be a day of relaxation. He had no work (though he worked from home) and Farsiris, his little girl, was supposed to be picked up by a babysitter, leaving him alone and in peace all day. But, with the way things were looking, she wasn't going to leave his side for long, let alone the whole day.

"Stupid fucking boggart," he grumbled, pulling out his fairly new wand. He gave the dresser drawer a tap and a swirling mass leapt towards him, falling to the floor, where it took on the shape of a little girl with olive skin and dark hair, her small chest still as she was not breathing. "Issa!" He dropped to her side before he could stop himself, the limp form of his precious daughter too much to handle.

"Hello?"

He extinguished the boggart with a flick of his wand unsteady, then stood on shaky legs to answer the door.

"Is it gone?" his daughter asked, hugging a stuffed dragon to her chest.

"Yes, Issa, it's gone."

Halfway through breakfast there was a knock at the front door. And, seeing as he'd given any and all servants and house elves the day off today, he was forced to answer it himself. It couldn't possibly be the babysitter, for he'd already owled her, telling her to stay home. He'd even sent her pay for the inconvenience.

"Who the hell…" he muttered, trudging for the door. It seemed his day couldn't get any worse.

He yanked open the door, a glare set for whoever dared disturb him.

"What the—" But he stopped short, unsure of what to say or do, because standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with silky brown tresses that curled perfectly and mesmerizing chocolate-colored eyes. She wore a fashionable black pinstriped suit with a matching skirt and plain black high heels. In one hand she carried a briefcase, in the other a roll of parchment.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said with a stiff, forced smile. And that's when he realized who she was. He knew she looked familiar!

"G-Granger?"

* * *

Well that's my first chapter. I know I didn't give you a lot, but it's only a prologue, the reason it's so short. Hopefully the next chapter will come soon.

REVIEW for chapter 2 :)


	2. Playing Owl

Recap:

"What the—" But he stopped short, unsure of what to say or do, because standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with silky brown tresses that curled perfectly and mesmerizing chocolate-colored eyes. She wore a fashionable black pinstriped suit with a matching skirt and plain black high heels. In one hand she carried a briefcase, in the other a roll of parchment.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said with a stiff, forced smile. And that's when he realized who she was. He knew she looked familiar!

"G-Granger?"

* * *

Chapter 2: Playing Owl

Flashback:

Hermione sat at her desk, twirling a quill between her fingers, having never been so deathly bored in her entire life. She had anticipated that life would get slow after the war, what with the lack of extreme peril at every corner—but this was ridiculous! For the first six months, she and the boys had been bombarded with work, running all over the world to round up renegade Death Eaters. Even that had been exciting; heart pounding and dangerous. But soon they became harder to find, and so more research was involved than actual action. Harry and Ron had been surprised, to say the least, when she complained about having to do paperwork instead of being out in the field.

Scanning the parchment for the fifth time, and still the words wouldn't form coherently in her head. It was a very important report about the whereabouts of a known Death Eater who'd been escaping their clutches ever since Voldemort was defeated. But, for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to concentrate. She desperately needed a lift from her boredom. She was sure she would die from it.

"Granger?"

She looked up, her quill falling to her lap.

"Yes Mr. Scrimgeour?" She prayed she looked busy, and begged for no more busy work.

"I have a very important letter that I need to be delivered by hand," he informed her, sliding the rolled up parchment out of his pocket. "I can't risk having an owl take it, and since Auror work is slow, I was hoping you would be up for a nice carriage ride in the country."

She frowned inwardly. There must be a catch if _Rufus Scrimgeour_ was trying to butter her up.

"Should I be aware of the contents of this letter?"

"It's not important to you," he said firmly, though still trying to sound congenial. "But very much the opposite to the recipient."

"And who is this person?" She dreaded the answer.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy."

End Flashback:

* * *

_I wish he would stop staring at me_, Hermione thought, annoyed, as she stood on the doorstep, the cold November wind kicking up the bottom of her cloak. But she didn't know what else to do but stand there. She couldn't very well barge in without being invited.

"What are you doing here?" Draco finally asked, narrowing his brow. They may be on the same side, but the hatred he'd always had for her still resided deep inside him. "I thought you and your boyfriends were running around playing hero."

"Well it seems that only one of us has matured since Hogwarts," she sighed, then lifted her arm, offering him the letter. "Minister Scrimgeour instructed me to bring this to you."

He snatched it from her hands, tearing it open immediately.

Hermione was about to turn away, when a blur of black hair and a pink sweater ran across the hall, disappearing into another room.

_Is that her_? she wondered. Of course she knew all about Farsiris, Draco's four-year-old daughter. His wife had been killed at the beginning of the war by Voldemort himself, though people were still unsure why. And Draco certainly wasn't about to say. A few weeks later he professed his loyalty to the side of good and continued to fight the war, this time _against_ Voldemort. Everyone was skeptical at first, until, that is, he saved Ginny Weasley's life. To this day Harry has been torn with his feelings about it.

"Hello."

Hermione looked down to find the little girl at her feet, a stuffed dragon in her arms.

"Hi there," Hermione replied, and crouched down eye-level to her. The rumors were right; she was a gorgeous child. _Must be from her mother_. "My name's Hermione. What's yours?"

"Far-sear-iss," she laughed, pronouncing each syllable. "But my daddy calls me Issa."

"Well Issa, it's very nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"About me?" Her eyes lit up, causing something to turn in Hermione's gut. Her only regret about her failed marriage with Ron had been that they never had children. "How do you know about me?"

"I used to go to school with your father." She glanced up, but Draco was far too engrossed in his letter to be paying any attention to them.

"But I never heard of you."

"Well," Hermione said, biting her lip just a little. "We—er—don't see each other anymore. His work for the Ministry is done at home."

"Oooooh! Ok." She grinned wide, and for the life of her, Hermione couldn't figure why. "I can do magic," she whispered suddenly, pulling at Hermione's cloak. "Wanna see?"

Hermione smiled and nodded, allowing the little dark-haired girl to lead her away from the foyer. And still Draco didn't take his eyes off the letter, his face a mask, hiding what, if any, emotion he was feeling. Farsiris dragged her past several doors, ending at one with a large metal Celtic knot nailed to it. Her little fingers had just reached the handle, when—

"Farsiris Mirabelle Malfoy!" Draco boomed, trudging towards them, his letter crushed in his fist. "What do you think you're doing! You don't know this woman!"

"But daddy!" she protested, shrinking away behind Hermione. "You went to school with her! She's not a mean lady!" She was almost too tears with fear and frustration. She didn't know what she'd done wrong, and Hermione felt the sudden urge to protect her.

"She's fine Mal—Draco," Hermione said, holding him back with her palm pressed to his chest. And the only reason this stopped him was because it was the first time she'd ever touched him in an even remotely gentle way. "She was just being friendly. No harm done."

This seemed to calm him, for his shoulders eased and he straightened up.

"You can leave now, Granger," he said through his teeth.

"Fair enough." She turned to his daughter, patting her on the head. "I had a good time talking with you, Issa."

"Me too," she beamed, showing her pearl whites. "Will you come back?" she asked excitedly.

Draco groaned under his breath.

"I don't know, sweety. I'm very busy with my job. But," she added, seeing how crushed she looked, "maybe I'll bring your dad another note from the Minister."

"I hope so!"

"Me too." She turned back to Malfoy, and gave him another stiff smile. "Malfoy."

"Granger," he mocked.

"Alright," she said, clucking her tongue once against her top lip and front teeth. She tucked her hand into her cloak and sighed. "Good-bye then."

For the rest of the day Draco didn't take his eyes off Farsiris. Not that he thought she was in any real danger, or that Hermione was the cause of it—he didn't trust anyone with his little girl. Even the babysitter—it had taken him more than a year to trust her enough to leave for even twenty minutes. Farsiris was everything he had, and he could _not_ stand losing her.

"Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom."

Draco looked up from his book, his eyes following the line from his daughter to the bathroom door that he could see just outside the doorway to the room they were in.

"Alright," he sighed, and closed his book, watching her every move as she ran for the bathroom. _I really need to get out of here_, he thought. How long had it been since he'd even been out in the yard? It must have been weeks. And into town? The office? It was pushing six months.

And he had been such an adventurous, if not reckless, youth. His years of fatherhood had certainly brought about an unhealthy degree of paranoia and solitude. He wondered if he even had the right social skills anymore to be out in public. His encounter with Hermione Granger had proven that fact, though he couldn't help but blame it on the fact that she was a muggle-born and they were, and had always been, enemies.

He sighed loudly and tried to get back into what he'd been reading. But until Farsiris was sitting in front of him, it would be almost impossible.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Hermione returned to the Ministry, her hair soaked from a sudden downpour of rain. Inwardly she cursed Malfoy, because she was unable to Apparate from his house. When she reached her office, there was someone there waiting for her.

"And just where have you been?" Ron teased, twirled around in her chair to face her.

"Nowhere pleasant," she sighed, peeling off her cloak. "Scrimgeour asked me to deliver a letter to _Malfoy_."

"Ouch," he winced. "What did you do to piss him off?"

"Very funny. Don't you have work to do? I'm not the only Auror in this place."

"Calm down there, firecracker." He stood and patted her on the shoulder. "I just came by to tell you my mom invited you and Harry to dinner tonight."

"Since when do I need a special invite? I'm there more than I'm at my apartment."

"Geez, 'Mione!" he sighed. "What's gotten into you?"

"Sorry." She dropped her briefcase on her desk, then, with a flick of her wand, dried her hair. "I'm just miffed about having to be Malfoy's owl. There's no reason he couldn't come to the Ministry himself to get it."

"Yeah, well, you know him. He's a Malfoy. That should explain it right there."

"I haven't seen that dirty ferret in over a year. I could have gone longer." She took a deep breath, then smiled. "Whatever. At least it's over. I never want to go back there again."

"That's the spirit! I'll see you tonight. Seven o'clock?"

"On the dot."

* * *

"And he just _expected_ me to bring it to him!" Hermione slurred, taking another gulp of wine. Since the war she'd taken to drinking red wine heavily when she was upset. And thankfully, for her and her friends, that wasn't very often. "I still don't understand why it had to be _me_. There are plenty more people in that office who can stand him better. I mean, for Merlin's sake!"

"Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley said, giving her a sympathetic smile. She excused the drinking because it was Hermione, the golden girl. And besides, she'd been through so much so early in life. She was lucky she'd turned out so good. "Draco has changed just as the rest of us have in the war. And I don't doubt that that daughter of his has softened his heart some. She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"It makes you wonder about the mother," she laughed, and poured another glass of wine. Ron hastily grabbed the bottle and moved it out of her reach. "What was her name again?"

"Kanika. She was from a very old pureblood family in Egypt. I suppose we're related to them somehow. Arthur's side maybe."

"Well that explains it," Hermione said with finality, and half-slammed, half-set her glass on the table. "I was wondering about her skin tone."

"Poor dear has to grow up without a mother. And all alone in that big house with only her father. I daresay she needs a woman around."

"I would love to be there for her, if not for the fact that her father is the biggest pompous ass in the Wizarding World. Just another Lucius Malfoy."

"Now he's not all that bad, sweety. Remember what he did for Ginny?"

Across the table both Ginny and Harry's faces burst with color. Neither liked discussing that _little_ fact.

"Yes, well," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "That aside, he's a horrible excuse for a human being."

"Here." Mrs. Weasley slid something across the table to her. "Eat this. You'll feel better."

Hermione picked up the small brownish-green object and placed it in her mouth.

"Ith bidder," she said, unable to talk normally with it sitting on her tongue. "Wha ith it?"

"Sobairian Root. Trust me, you'll feel better."

She chewed the small, bitter root, then swallowed and waited for an effect. After a moment, her hazy vision cleared and her headache eased.

"Where did you get that? I thought they only grew in Madagascar."

"I grow them myself," Mrs. Weasley said with a shrug. "I have something of a green thumb."

And for the rest of the evening Hermione didn't mention Draco Malfoy.

* * *

"Not to be rude sir," Hermione began, keeping her anger and annoyance in check like an expert, "but why am _I_ bringing him these letters? Surely another person would be more fit for the job."

"To be honest, Miss Granger," he sighed, rubbing his temple. It wasn't an easy job being the Minister of Magic. Especially now, with all those Death Eaters (and supporters) still on the loose. "The person I had delivering his messages before has retired. And with the important nature of the letters, I can't very well have an owl deliver them. Nor can Mr. Malfoy come here, for he has his daughter to care for. Not many know this, Granger, but Draco has become rather…paranoid since the war. He hardly lets young Farsiris out of his sight. And when he does it's to someone he believes he can trust. It's a hard situation, but he is a valuable asset to our cause."

"Very well," she said, and Accio-ed her cloak. She had nothing more to say. All her questions had been answered, and there was nothing for her to argue. She loved her job too much to deny this menial task.

It had only been two weeks since she'd been in the very same carriage she was now. Only this time a whole new set of thoughts coursed through her mind. She wondered mostly, however, about Farsiris, and her mother, Kanika. Surely theirs had been an arranged marriage, a marriage of convenience. Mrs. Weasley had said that she came from an old pureblood family in Egypt. So that would make the little girl full-blooded as well. And, try as she might, Hermione could not bring herself to think ill of the child. What fault of hers was it that she was born into such a horrid family? No one could choose their parents. She only hoped that Farsiris could see the good in the world, as oppose to her father, who fed on the evil and corrupt. She doubted she could ever trust the man, even if he did save Ginny's life. That was only because he was trying to prove his loyalty to the side of good. It had nothing to do with his inner goodness.

_Like he has any_. Hermione rolled her eyes at such an absurd thought. But then why had Mrs. Weasley been so sure of not dismissing him as simply evil? Hermione had never known her to be a bad judge of character. Could he really have changed that much since their time at Hogwarts? Was is love for his daughter pure enough to cleanse the evil he'd done or wanted to do? And, if so, could Hermione ever see it under all the hatred she carried for him?

The carriage came to a sudden halt. Hermione pulled her cloak tight around her neck, bracing herself for the biting wind. She ran up the cobbled walkway to the front door, Malfoy's letter tucked safely in her pocket.

When he answered the door he was just as surprised to see her as last time. He didn't even bother with greetings, and snatched the letter from her hand. Farsiris stood, expectant, in the hall, her little hands clutched before her. Hermione gave her a big smile, then glanced at Draco.

"Shit," he hissed, crushing the parchment. "Shit." He looked from his daughter to Hermione, then back to his letter, his eyes darting like a cornered animal.

"What is it?"

He groaned, glaring deep at her audacity to address him.

"I need to leave," he said through his teeth. "The Ministry…" But he trailed off, his eyes glued to Farsiris. "Shit."

"What's wrong daddy?" his daughter asked, pulling at his pant leg.

"Nothing, Issa." He shot another glare at Hermione. "Granger?"

"What Malfoy?" she bit, returning his contempt tenfold. "My daughter's baby sitter is vacationing with her family."

"Why do I care about that? I have to go." She was halfway out the door when he grabbed her elbow, his chest pressed against her back. And when he spoke his breath was hot on her ear.

"There is no one else who can stay with my daughter but her, and I have no idea where she went."

"Then wait for her to come back." Hermione squirmed to get away, but he held her with an impassioned grip.

"She won't be back in time, Granger. I need to go now. This is too important to put off. Even you would agree." He took a deep breath, then released her, stepping back. "My daughter likes you for some reason. She talks almost of nothing else. How many Galleons will it take?"

"If I do this, Malfoy, I don't want your damn money," she seethed, though couldn't help her small smile. She loved the idea of Draco being angry with his daughter's affection for her. "What's so damn important that you need to leave, anyway? I thought your work for the Ministry could be served at home."

"That's my business alone," he said shortly.

"And I'm making it mine. Tell me and I'll do it."

He clenched his fists at his sides and let out a ragged, angry groan.

"Fine."

"Brilliant." She pulled off her cloak, hanging on the coat rack by the door. "How long will you be gone?"

* * *

Yes that was very fast, but I wanted to get to this point. There isn't much I could have put in between, and besides, it would have just been useless filler. Best do it this way.

REVIEW!

**Farsiris-means Princess (in Persian)**

**Kanika-means black (in Egyptian)**

P.S. Please don't be upset about Hermione's drinking. Like I said it's not often, and you can't expect her to go through a war and not have some side effects. The others have some too, only I haven't revealed them yet.


	3. Dinner Time!

Recap:

"And I'm making it mine. Tell me and I'll do it."

He clenched his fists at his sides and let out a ragged, angry groan.

"Fine."

"Brilliant." She pulled off her cloak, hanging on the coat rack by the door. "How long will you be gone?"

* * *

Chapter 3: Dinner Time!

Hermione was settled comfortably in Malfoy's vast library in a matter of minutes, little Farsiris perched eagerly at her ankles. Draco hesitated in the doorway, his things already packed in the carriage. He wasn't supposed to be to his destination until morning, but he figured the earlier he left the earlier he could be back.

"We'll be fine," Hermione sighed, and cracked the aged book open to the first page. She had to fight every instinct in her body not to hiss irritably at him. But, for the sake of his daughter, she could endure these few moments. After this it was her and Farsiris, and she was a surprisingly lovely girl. "We're going to read a story, then I'll make some dinner, then put her to bed."

"_You_ are going to make dinner?" he asked incredulously, sticking his nose in the air. "What for? I have perfectly capable house elves for that." And then that old flicker she knew so well came alight behind his eyes. "Still crusading for elf rights, Granger?"

"On the contrary, Malfoy, I happen to like cooking for myself. You should try it sometime. It's very satisfying."

He rolled his eyes, then gave a small gesture of his wrist. Farsiris skipped to his side as he crouched, embracing her the way a father should embrace his daughter. And, for an instant, Hermione forgot she was in Draco Malfoy's house; the moment was so tender it made her heart gush for a child. He kissed her cheek once, whispered something unintelligible, then stood and swept from the room.

* * *

"Oh brilliant!" Farsiris cried, a few pieces of chopped carrot still sticking to her fingers after she'd dropped them in the pot of boiling water. "Papa never let's me see the elves cooking."

Hermione smiled, then plopped in the onions. Since she was a girl—a supposedly normal girl—she and her mother had cooked together. Not all the time, but enough so that she learned the basics and grew hungry for more. As she got older, whenever she was home, she cooked her parents at least one meal, always topping the one before it. Now, at twenty-one, she cooked whenever she could. And for this her friends were forever grateful. She was an excellent chef, though she believed she could always do better.

"Well," Hermione said, placing the cover on the pot to let the vegetables cook, "I think everyone, muggle or not, should know how to cook for themselves. Like I told your incorrigible father, it's very satisfying."

"Incorrigible?" Farsiris asked. "What does that mean?"

"It means he's stubborn as a mull."

Farsiris let out a great cry of laughter.

"Oh papa would be angry to hear that."

"Then we best keep it between us," she said with a wink. "What do you say? One more story before supper?"

* * *

It was nearly dawn when Draco came trudging in, his cloak wrapped so tight around him it appeared a part of him. He kicked off his shoes at the door, then made his way upstairs to see his daughter, who would be asleep. He had no cares to find Hermione, wherever she'd chosen to doze in wait for him. His daughter was the only thing on his mind.

"Issa," he whispered, brushing her midnight hair off her face. Never in his life did he think he could love someone as much as he loved her. He'd never loved his parents or even his late wife. Theirs had been an arranged marriage. She was pureblooded and that's all that mattered, so she was his wife. Of course he regretted her death, she had been a part of him and together they'd created Farsiris.

"Uh, how long have you been here?" Hermione moaned, prying her eyes open.

Draco jumped so high it was more than apparent that he hadn't noticed her in the rocking chair in the corner.

"Fuck Granger!" he hissed, nearly unable to control his volume. "Do _not_ do that again!"

"Sorry," she yawned, and climbed to her feet, the blanket falling to the floor. "How was the secret mission?"

Draco rolled his eyes, his bottom lip curling into an ugly grimace.

"I'm back," he said through his teeth. "You can go now."

"Well aren't we grateful."

"Drop the pleasantries, Granger. We're alone, therefore—"

"You know what, Malfoy?" she snapped. "Just stop right there. You're just the same as you've always been. I was right. You _can't_ change."

"Nor would I want to."

* * *

"Can I ask you something?"

Ginny sat up at the tone of Hermione's voice. She was staying over at her apartment for the weekend, taking a break from Harry and Ron at the Burrow.

"Sure," Ginny answered hesitantly. Why did she have a sinking feeling that she was going to regret this?

"Now I know you don't like talking about it, but I just can't not ask you any longer." She paused for the smallest fraction of a second, heightening the delicate tension. "How exactly did Malfoy save you during the war?"

"I hoped you'd never ask me," the youngest Weasley sighed. "But I don't think I could have kept it from you forever."

"Does it bother you because of who he is or what he did?"

"It's definitely because of who he was."

"Is," Hermione corrected. "He's shown me nothing of a change." She cursed herself silently. And she'd been so good about not voicing her hatred for him all day since she'd returned from Malfoy Manor.

"No offense, 'Mione, but I don't think you'll ever see him for who he is now. He's changed, I can guarantee you that, but he'll never change for you. The hatred you two have for each other is so deep nothing can stand in the way."

"How did it happen?" she repeated, more anxiously. She was so close. Aside from Harry and her parents, Hermione would be the only other person to know the truth.

"It was in the middle of so much chaos," she recalled. "I could hardly see a thing. One minute I was standing, wand ready, and firing spells at Death Eaters, and the next I'm lying face down in the dirt and the sky is bright green."

Hermione gasped, holding her hand over her mouth.

"They used the Avada Kedavra on you!"

"Yeah," she laughed uneasily with a shrug. "I guess I was more of a threat than I thought."

"Wait, wait. Let me get this straight. Malfoy risked his life to save you? A Weasley?"

"Well I didn't say I could _explain_ it Hermione!" Ginny suddenly lashed out, her cheeks and ears flaming red.

"Whoa, Gin. Calm down. I'm sorry. It just doesn't make sense is all."

"He was trying to prove himself to the Order. I just wish he hadn't used me…"

"So how do you feel about him now? I mean, since you say he's changed."

Ginny let out an agonizing groan.

"I don't know. That's just it. Everyone seems to think I owe him something, but the few times I've seen him since the war he hasn't given me a second glance. Hermione," she whispered. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but it feels like…it feels like I was _raped_. He used me to gain trust, and now he won't even look at me!"

"Well," Hermione said, scooting over and wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders, "I say forget him. He doesn't deserve a thank you from you. If anything, _he owed you_. After all the shit he made you and everyone else go through all during school. I say it's even and you shouldn't think about it anymore."

"Is his daughter really as beautiful as they say?"

"I don't know how," Hermione said, shaking her head. "With Malfoy's ugly mug you'd think she should have been infected too."

"You should let me come over the next time you babysit her."

"Whoa, whoa. What do you mean, next time? That was a one-time thing, Gin. There's no way I'm going back there again. I'm going to the Minister's office first thing Monday morning and telling him I can't do it anymore."

"I don't know 'Mione," Ginny said, biting her lip. "I heardScrimgeour is ecstatic over the fact that Malfoy actually let you watch his daughter. If I were you, I wouldn't be the one to pull him off that high. He'll be furious."

Hermione huffed and leaned back on her pillows, an acute anger boiling deep inside her. Was this where all of her schooling and training had taken her? To be Draco Malfoy's babysitter? There were Death Eaters to be found, for Merlin's sake! And here she was having to sit and read stories for a little girl who's father she loathed almost as much as Voldemort himself. Not that watching Farsiris was a problem. Well, it was, but only because of who her father was. The last thing she wanted was for him to have leverage over her. She could see it now: her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor, while Malfoy laughing, pressing his healed boot into her back, demanding that she scrub harder.

"Why do I even have an Auror's license!" Hermione burst out.

"Hermi—"

"Whatever," she sighed. "Forget it. I guess this is the hand I was dealt."

Ginny didn't know what to say to this, and so she just sat there. Eventually they grew tired and she left for the pullout bed in the living room. Somehow their girl's night had turned sour. And it was all because of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione screamed so loud and jumped so high, that anyone in her vicinity (had they been there) would have thought she was being attacked. Her hand resting on her heaving chest, she glared daggers into the fireplace.

"What the hell do you want?" she snapped. "I don't remember giving you permission to use my fireplace, Malfoy!"

If he hadn't been in such a miserable mood himself, he would have smiled. Instead, however, his grimace deepened and he stepped out of the fireplace and into Hermione's living room, brushing his robes clean.

"I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here," he said sharply. "But—"

"The Ministry gave me no notice," she protested. "I'm not babysitting for you again, Malfoy. It's out of the question."

"I'm not here on Ministry business," he shot back.

"Then why are you here?"

The tension was so thick they were choking on it.

"Well?" she snapped when he said nothing.

"Farsiris," he said, clearing his throat. "She turns five tomorrow…and…she wants you there…"

For a moment she said nothing. And then it hit her and she let out an agonizing groan. How the hell could she say no to Farsiris? With great struggle, she managed to agree, her teeth clenched so hard they hurt.

"Very well." He was obviously not thrilled with her answer. "Be there by six for dinner."

He turned to leave, but she stopped him just before he tossed in the Floo Powder.

"I'll be there at five."

"Excuse me? I must have heard you wrong. It sounded like you just said you were going to intrude on me earlier than necessary."

"Oh shut up. I'm saying that I'm coming over early so me and Farsiris can cook dinner together. She loved it last time."

"I don't—"

"If we can put up with each other for her sake, then you can do this little thing, Malfoy."

"Whatever. Just make it edible."

The room flashed green for a moment, and then he was gone.

"Bloody hell," she groaned. How the hell was she supposed to know what four-year-olds liked for their birthdays?

* * *

At five o'clock sharp Hermione was at Malfoy Manor, a bundle held securely in her arms. She climbed the steps slowly, her sleek black stilettos making a sharp sound on the stone. Being a special occasion, she decided to dress up, wearing a simple black dress with straps and a rose colored cardigan. Her hair, that was now well-conditioned, hung in loose curls, framing her face.

She adjusted the package in her arms, then rung the doorbell, praying that she and Draco could just get through tonight and not have to see each other for a long, long time.

"Is that for her?" Draco asked bluntly, ripping the present from her before she could answer. "What is it?"

"A surprise, for Farsiris." And, just as rudely, she grabbed it back, giving him a hardened glare. "Where—" But before she could finish her sentence, a blur came rushing towards her, and the next thing she knew there was a small person clinging to her legs. "Hey you. Happy birthday."

"I'm so happy you came!"

"I wouldn't miss this for the world, sweety. Here." She handed her the gift, hoping that she would like it.

"Thank you!" she cried, and tore at the wrapping paper. She stared at the object in her hands for the longest moment, then looked up at Hermione, perplexed. "What is it?"

"It's called an electric torch," Hermione explained. "Push that white button and light comes on."

Farsiris did as instructed, a look of complete surprise and glee stretching across her face.

"And it's not magic."

"_Not magic_!"

"Nope. Here are some extra batteries." She handed her a plastic package of a good number of batteries. Farsiris stared at them just as perplexedly as at the flashlight. "Your dad will show you how to change them."

Draco, who had been getting steadily madder, couldn't withhold his voice any longer.

"And what makes you think I would lower myself to do such a meaningless thing?"

"Because you love your daughter," Hermione countered, the picture of calm.

He had no retort.

"Are you ready to make dinner, Issa?" Hermione asked, taking the small girl's hand. Draco frowned at the use of his nickname for her, but said nothing. It was her birthday after all. And he wouldn't ruin that for the world.

* * *

Hermione smiled to herself, her eyes of Draco as he listened intently to Farsiris. She was explaining to him how to chop carrots and celery properly, but he wasn't doing a very good job. Hermione had to admit, when it came to his parenting, he was just brilliant. He was patient, loving, respectful. Everything that a father should be.

_If only he let others see that_, she thought almost bitterly. Ginny had said that he'd change but, up until this moment, she would never have entertained the idea. Of course before she'd seen him interact with her, but tonight something was different. It was as though he'd forgotten Hermione was in the room and was free to act with his daughter as he pleased.

"That's it daddy!" Farsiris cried, clapping her little hands together.

And, to Hermione's complete amazement, an actual smile stretched across his features.

_He's not bad looking when he's not angry,_ she thought, then caught herself and frowned. What was she doing thinking like that? Malfoy was Malfoy. End of story.

She took a breath, cleared her head, then walked over to the stove.

"Having fun, daddy?" she asked, her undertone only evident to herself and Draco. "Issa, sweety, what do you say we make treacle fudge for dessert later?"

Farsiris's squeal of joy was just the answer she'd wanted.

* * *

Well that's that for that chapter. Haha:P I hope everyone liked it. I know I've been taking a long time between chapters, but I have soooooooooo much work to do. I've been working on all 3 of my in-progress fics for the past month, a little at a time.

REVIEW and I update :)


	4. Spy

Recap:

"Having fun, daddy?" she asked, her undertone only evident to herself and Draco. "Issa, sweety, what do you say we make treacle fudge for dessert later?"

Farsiris's squeal of joy was just the answer she'd wanted.

* * *

Chapter 4: Spy

Hermione walked leisurely down the long expansive corridor, taking her time on the way to the bathroom. They'd only just finished dinner and Farsiris was having the best time making fudge with her father, who Hermione had left precise directions with, whispering to Farsiris not to let him use magic. And she was having fun too, a lot more than she thought she would with Draco in the same room. Of course she hardly paid him mind, but just the idea of him being there had set her off from the beginning. Now it didn't seem like such a chore if she had to babysit Farsiris again. She was an absolute pleasure, contradicting her last name. Farsiris Malfoy, the sweetest girl on the planet.

She turned right at the end of the hall and then ducked directly into the first door on the left. What she didn't realize, however, until she was already in the room, was that she'd taken the second door, completely missing the first because the flambeau outside it had gone out. The room she was in she'd never seen before. It was very small by comparison to the rest of the manor, and only held a simple chair and an armoire that was emanating a strange blue light. Hermione wasn't usually the nosey type, but this was Malfoy's house, and whatever he was hiding in there couldn't be good.

"A Pensieve?" she whispered, having never seen one before, but read about them somewhere. That, and Harry had told her and Ron all about Dumbledore's.

She turned to leave, her conscience getting the better of her, when something stopped her. This was her chance to see what everyone was talking about, the side to Draco that she couldn't see. What better way than through memories? Surely there were memories with his daughter in there.

"Only one," she said, leaning over the basin. "Then I'll go right back."

Hermione felt a pull just after her wand had touched the murky surface of the basin. She was jerked forward, just he way Harry had described, and then fell head first for what seemed like eons. The wind pierced her ears as she rushed past blackness immeasurable. Finally she landed, having somehow righted herself over the course of the fall. The room was large and narrow, all occupants on the other side. Knowing that she wouldn't be seen or heard, she sprinted across the room to find Draco and a woman she'd never seen before.

"Is that—"

"Kanika!" Draco's only slightly younger self bellowed. He jumped back, glaring heatedly at her, a gleaming silver wedding band so obvious on his ring finger where there was nothing now. "How dare you even _suggest_ it! This house has been watched since the day Dumbledore died! If you are heard it means the end to us all!"

"But the baby," she pleaded, tears soaking into her beautiful Egyptian features. And for the first time Hermione noticed the slight bulge beneath Kanika's robes.

"If the child is even born," he hissed, "then he or she is at the mercy of the Dark Lord. You know this as well as I."

"My parents had a handful of choice husbands before you, Draco Malfoy!" she screamed, her wand gripped so tightly in her right hand that it looked painful. "And the _only_ reason I am your wife now is because You-Know-Who threatened my family!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Hermione resisted the urge to strangle him. He wasn't really there, she had to keep reminding herself. He was an image, a near-illusion, a memory. But the want was so great she found her fists clenched and her teeth barred.

"Everything! Draco, I will _not_ but my child in danger because you're not man enough to stand up for your family. My parents may have been blinded by the Dark Arts, but they still knew who had gone too far! And if they could have they would not have married us." She took a deep, agonizing breath, then continued. "You have no concept of fatherhood, and you know nothing of love. Our child is still deep within me, but the moment it takes its first breath you will love it so much you're going to feel a pain you never knew existed. And at that moment you will understand what I'm trying to say today, because until you've loved you can never grasp the notion of protection. You have some vague idea, you know you want to protect yourself and stay alive, but when you are able to want to protect another being then you will want the things I want right now…I fear it's too late already."

"Are you done now?" he sighed, arms crossed in the most arrogant of ways.

"Yes Draco, I'm finished. I know you don't want to love or care for someone else, but I hope you will when you see our child. I know you will, there's no question of that, but I hope you _want_ to."

The memory faded to a hazy and for a moment all Hermione could see was a fog on a backdrop of black. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, but nothing came into focus. For what could have been five minutes she stood, or what felt like standing, and then the image began to come into itself. It was a different room, a more square room, and the walls were draped in silks of colors such that Hermione immediately thought of Easter. Pastel everything. And in the middle stood Kanika, her belly gone, and a bundle in her arms. She kept glancing at a grandfather clock in the corner, her face tense and scrunched up.

When she began to pace, Hermione grew almost nervous, her stomach clenching up as she felt what Kanika was surely feeling. It was anticipation, she was waiting for someone or something, and Hermione had a sinking feeling that she knew who.

"Issa," Kanika whispered, and kissed the baby in her arms. Hermione inched closer, wanting to get a look at the little girl as an infant, to fall in love with her all over again. Her little face was at ease, as she was sleeping soundly. She had so much less hair, but very fine and black, and she was the most gorgeous baby she had ever seen. "Daddy will be home soon. He will." But she wasn't fooling herself, and surely not Hermione. Either she was afraid that he would come home, or that he wouldn't. And the same sinking feeling as before told Hermione that it was the latter, which struck a raw nerve. She had never thought of Draco as a person having people care about him. It made him more human, more easily excused as hurt and flawed, and it was something she didn't think she was ready to admit. Not yet.

A creak at the door caught both her and Kanika's attention, but baby Farsiris continued to sleep peacefully.

Draco stepped into the nursery, still dressed in a traveling cloak. His hair was damp from rain and he wore his usual scowl. But then, suddenly, his expression changed and Hermione realized just as abruptly that this was the first time he'd seen his daughter! He'd been out on a mission, presumably for Voldemort, and missed the birth of his child. And quite simply he was not expecting her to be there when he came home.

"What—"

"I," Kanika said, dropping her eyes, "had a run-in with Sef." And Hermione found herself confused, having never heard this name before. "He had been unaware of our marriage and my pregnancy…He was not pleased."

"He…He hurt you?"

"He tried."

There was a deep and uneasy silence. And then Draco took the few remaining steps forward and laid eyes on his daughter for the first time. The change in him was instant and irreversible, a look of utter confusion painted across his face. Hermione didn't doubt that the fight she'd witnessed only moments ago was replaying in his mind, and he was cursing himself for not being prepared, for underestimating something he felt was too silly to take part in.

"What's her name?" was all he said.

"Farsiris," Kanika whispered. "It means—"

"Princess."

Draco reached his hand out and he was nearly touching the baby, when a sudden jolt knocked Hermione back. A moment later and she was staring at a very angry Draco, the Pensieve jostling beside her.

"If it were any other day," he hissed through his teeth, "then I'd throw you out right now."

"Draco, who's Sef?" Hermione blurted out before he was halfway out the door.

For a long while Hermione doubted he would answer her, let alone turn around. But then, very slowly, he turned and looked her dead in the eye, his face a mask hiding all emotion other than anger.

"That's none of your business, _mudblood_."

* * *

Instead of going home, like she should have after such a long, tiring day, Hermione went straight to the Ministry. Few people were still around at that time of night, but she didn't need any assistance. She knew exactly what she needed and where to find it. Thankfully, being so valued by the Minister, Hermione possessed a key to the Records Room and was allowed to go there at her leisure. This was true of all Aurors, of course, but only a select few could do it with such abandon as she could.

Pulling the ancient-looking key from her purse, she slipped it into the lock and with a click she had access. Her first weeks at the Ministry she had been horrified at the complete disarray of the Records Room. Hardly any witch or wizard dared go in there unless they knew how to maneuver. Three months after she was hired and the room was transformed, cabinets neatly coded and everything filed away properly. She even did the courtesy of creating an inventory sheet, so all anyone had to do was find what they needed on a list and then Accio it. Simple as that.

"Accio inventory," she said with a flick of her wand. A second later a clipboard came whizzing across the room and landed in her outstretched palm. "Brilliant." She thumbed through the pages, until she came to the title "Malfoy, Draco" with had a few entries, but only one she was interested in, the one marked "Death Eater". That file would carry all information about Draco up until he switched sides. "Accio Malfoy comma Draco comma Death Eater." And for good measure she added, "Malfoy comma Kanika." Surely in one of the two files the name Sef would come up, and with it a last name and a file. And if not then all she had to do, in theory, was contact the Egyptian branch of the Ministry and ask for his files.

First she opened Draco's file, making a mental note to check his other files as well. His Death Eater file read:

**Name**

—Draco Malfoy

**Father**

—Lucius Malfoy (deceased)

**Mother**

—Narcissa Malfoy (deceased)

**Siblings**

—none

**Wife**

—Kanika (Jome) Malfoy (deceased)

**Children**

—one daughter, Farsiris Malfoy

**Residence**

—England (see Record Keeper for complete address)

**Heritage**

—Pureblood

**General Facts**

—Known Death Eater

—Non-convicted Death Eater

Hermione scanned the rest of the file, frowning when there was no mention of a Sef or even anything profound that she didn't already know. It was then that she realized that what she was looking for might be in his "after" Death Eater file, but, just to be sure, she decided to check Kanika's anyway. And almost immediately she found what she was looking for. Under the heading of siblings was the name Sef Jome, as well as three other siblings, two more brothers named Kafele and Emil, and a sister named Tauret. And Tauret was the only one not listed and either deceased or missing. Kafele and Sef were dead, though it didn't specify how or why or when, and Emil was simply missing. Tauret still lived in Egypt.

"Accio inventory," Hermione muttered, having walked a distance from where she'd set it. She had a habit of pacing when she read. She found the last name Jome, but only the names Sef, Kafele, and Emil were listed. "She must be married," she thought aloud, and checked the entire list for any woman named Tauret. And, thankfully, there was only one. "Accio Derest comma Tauret."

After only a minute of looking, she found Tauret's residence, though it only said: Egypt (see Record Keeper for complete address), which was the same thing Draco's had said. She reasoned that anyone not wanting their whereabouts public knowledge requested it to be kept from most everyone's view. She thought for a moment, trying to remember the name of the Record Keeper, before she realized that there was none. The job had become obsolete years ago, and long before she'd started working.

"So where do I get the address?" she sighed.

But at least she knew one thing. Sef was Kanika's brother, and he was dead.

* * *

The next day Hermione went into work bright and early, stopping in the Minister's office before her own, her cloak still draped over her shoulders.

"Good morning, Mr. Scrimgeour," she said cheerfully, taking the un-offered seat before his desk. "How are you?"

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he sighed, a stack of paperwork already towering on his desk. Several paper airplanes zoomed around the room, a few looking agitated at being ignored, and one very persistent one that continually did nose-dives at the Minister, missing his head by inches.

"I'm doing some research, and I need an address that's not listened in the Records Room. The file told me to see the Record Keeper, but I know we no longer have that position."

"An address?" he asked. "For whom? And whose files are you poking around in? I haven't given you any Auror work that you would need to fish through the Records Room."

She took a deep breath, having decided earlier that she was going to be completely honest. Well, as honest as she could possibly be anyway.

"If I'm going to be spending so much time at Malfoy Manor, then I want to know who I'm spending time with. The name Sef came up in conversation," she lied, "and I did some research. I found that he is the late brother of Kanika, Mafloy's late wife. I want to know more about him and their family."

"And whose address to you need? Surely you know where Sef lives."

"Tauret Derest, the only relative I would be able to contact."

"And what will happen if I give you this information, Miss Granger? You're going to go to Africa and bombard this poor woman with evasive questions about her personal life?"

"I have very specific questions," she said, handing him a roll of parchment. He took the page, rolled his eyes, then looked it over.

"Very well," he sighed. "But if this should come back to me in a negative way it'll be your neck, do you understand? I won't have bad ties with Egypt, they are a wonderful asset and ally to us. Don't hurt that."

"I wouldn't dream of it. And thank you, Minister. You're helping me out a lot."

* * *

"What do you mean you're going to Egypt!" Ron baulked, nearly dropping his fork. But he wasn't the only one staring at her like she'd sprouted another head. Harry and Ginny were also wondering what she had up her sleeve.

"Oh calm down," Hermione sighed, then stood to collect the tea kettle that was steaming on the stove. They were all at her house and, after feeding them a delicious meal, she told them her plan, having to cave and also tell them how she spied into Draco's Pensieve. "I just want to know more about Malfoy. Wouldn't you if you had to go to his house every other week? I want to be sure—"

"All you want is to be nosey. What do you need to go all the way to Egypt for? What do you think this Tauret person can tell you?"

"What I want to know," she said matter-of-factly. "What do you think, Gin?"

"I think do whatever you want, though I don't see the point of going all the way out there. Why not just write her?"

"I don't want to limit myself to certain questions. I want conversation, not a pop quiz. You said yourself that I need to see what everyone else does. Well, this is the only way. When I understand his wife I can understand the relationship they had, and maybe I'll find what you are talking about."

"I'm not saying you have to be the guy's friend!" Ginny sighed. "And I don't think I told you that you should understand him."

"Well it doesn't matter. That's what I've decided I want to do. Harry?"

Harry looked up from his tea, his face hiding whatever he was feeling.

"What do you think?"

"You know how I feel about Malfoy. The way I always have. I'm with you, that you shouldn't have to understand him or what he's done. But if you really feel you need to do this, then do it."

"Brilliant. I leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"Just be careful, 'Mione. The war might be over, but that doesn't mean grudges are."

"I'll be fine, dad," she laughed. "I'll have my wand on me at all times."

"Write me if you need anything."

"I will."

"And promise me something."

"What?"

"That you're not doing this just to prove everyone else wrong. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, you're going to fail."

* * *

I know I take forever in updating, but you all know the story. Work, work, work. Anyway, I hope you liked it. Not much happened, but it set up for a lot to happen. And next time a lot will. Heehee!

REVIEW to see more :P


	5. Through the Haze

Recap:

"And promise me something."

"What?"

"That you're not doing this just to prove everyone else wrong. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, you're going to fail."

* * *

Chapter 5: Through the Haze

"I'm not sure what it is that you're asking of me exactly, Miss Granger."

Hermione sipped her tea to suppress a sigh. Of course she knew she was going to have to do a lot of legwork to get the information she wanted, but this woman, Kanika's sister, was looking at her as those she was in the process of ruining her life.

"I'm going to be very blunt with you, Mrs. Derest," Hermione said, and set her mug down so that she wasn't tempted to drink from it again and stall further. As it was she had little time to ask her question, for Tauret's husband, an avid believer in the Dark Arts, would be home very soon. "I've been put in an uncomfortable position at my job. To keep the Ministry happy, I have been instructed to look after the child of one of their prized employees. And apparently I am the only person that this man trusts with his daughter. For the first five years of her life he never left the house, and now that the Ministry is giving him more broad assignments, he needs someone to watch—"

"Are you telling me that Draco Malfoy actually trusts you with my niece?" The woman was skeptical to say the least.

"It would seem so," she sighed. "The problem, Mrs. Derest—"

"Call me Tauret," she said, and smiled for the first time since she'd arrived.

"My problem is that I'm not at all comfortable at their home. I love Farsiris to death, she's an absolute wonder, but Malfoy, on the other hand…"

"How is the child? I haven't seen her since she was born. Is she healthy? Happy?"

"She's doing wonderfully. And Malfoy is a great father, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Then what is the problem?"

"Everyone else trusts him since the war, since he saved my friend's life. He's done nothing to go back on his claim that he's on the good side, and yet I can't bring myself to see what everyone else sees. And since I have to spend so much time at his home, I want to know why everyone trusts him."

"That is something I cannot help you with," Tauret said solemnly. "No one can. But it is a good step you're taking, in coming here and attempting to find the answers you need." She leaned in, one hand on her ever-growing stomach, and re-filled Hermione's teacup. "I can, however, open the door."

The cup just barely touched Hermione's lips, when she brought it back down, stunned.

"Excuse me?"

"My sister, rest her soul, may not have wanted to marry Draco Malfoy, but she did learn to care for him. We are twins, her and I, though no one can ever tell. We're not identical, but we still share the same bond twins share. As children we created a language for ourselves that only we understood. When we grew older, we used this language in letters. And we used it up until the day she died. No one could ever break our code, because there was no code. And I learned a great deal about what went on in her house with the wizard you cannot trust."

"What did she write?" Hermione could almost feel the information she wanted seeping into her brain.

"I believe our time is over," Tauret said, and stood, steadying herself. Hermione found herself frowning, both at the blow, and at the fact that Tauret was pregnant and she would probably never be. "My husband will be home soon, and he would not appreciate your presence."

"But the letters—"

"Patience," she laughed. "They are precious to me and you are unable to read them. Give me a moment, and I will make copies in English. But you must promise me one thing."

"Don't worry," Hermione said, knowing what she wanted. "I won't let anyone else see them or know what they say, and I'll destroy them after I'm done."

"Brilliant. Oh, and one more thing," she added. "Do not stress over what you don't have, Hermione. Your day will come, and it will be well worth the wait."

* * *

Hermione was ecstatic when she got home. She threw her purse and coat on the coffee table, lit a fire in the fireplace with the flick of her wand, and settled down to read the translated letters Tauret had been kind enough to give her.

The first few were pretty much what Hermione had expected. Kanika was scared and nervous about living with her new husband, a man she barely knew and had a less than reputable background. She found out very quickly that she had been a virgin and that the first time she and Draco slept together, she got pregnant.

_…I was terrified, sister. And you will be too, once you're married to Matthias. These men, they know what they're doing, they know what they want and they can have it. We are only wives, bearers of their children. They don't care for us and surely as our parents must not. Because why else would they sell us into this slavery? Here, in England, women are free to marry who they choose. This is why, I suppose, my husband's family chose to find him a bride elsewhere. They needed him to have heirs, to carry on for this ridiculous war…Draco, my husband, has never known kindness in his life. Once when he was brooding, I brought him tea and kissed his forehead. He was so startled that he shoved me back and the teacup shattered on the floor. And last night, when he brought me to bed, I swear to you he acted as though I was a sack of grain. There was no softness to speak of. He was clumsy and crude, and when I cried out from pain, he looked at me as though I were irritating him and he would rather be somewhere else…_

"So Draco's bad in bed," she said to herself with a laugh. "That figures."

It wasn't for three more letters that she found something interesting, something that gave her pause.

_Dearest sister,_

_I witnessed the most shocking thing this afternoon. I had been in the library reading while Farsiris took her nap. Draco was out and not expected home for some time. But when I went to check in on her, I found that he'd returned without my knowledge, our daughter cradled gently in his arms. It was the first time I'd ever seen him hold her. And not only that, but he was talking to her. He said, "I won't let the Dark Lord have you" and "You better be as smart as your mother" and "I will never let you down". He said all these things as if he were scolding her, in his usual voice, the way he spoke to everyone, but there was something profoundly different as well. He actually meant his words. Perhaps now I can get a glimpse at my husband…_

Hermione finished the letter, which continued on to talk about Farsiris' development and the impending holidays, then set it aside, feeling somehow troubled at what she'd read. Yes, it was what she'd been looking for, so why wasn't she happy? She'd been in giggles over the fact that Draco was terrible in bed, but when he's saying nice things and caring for his daughter she's disappointed?

"Maybe Harry was right," she sighed. Maybe all she was doing was trying to prove everyone wrong and show that Draco really was as rotten as he'd always been. And when she wasn't finding that to be true, she was disappointed, as if his being cruel to Kanika and Farsiris was what she really wanted. Shouldn't it have been a good thing that he was being human? She shouldn't have been surprised, after seeing him interact with his daughter. But still, there was something wrong, something off about everything that was happening. She didn't feel right about Draco actually being a good or semi-good person. And she planned to figure out why.

* * *

Hermione sat up, somehow very alert for having just woken up. She stretched her limbs and was about to crawl out of bed, when a sudden noise startled her. Not a loud noise, not even a particularly eerie one. It was not at all familiar and shouldn't have been in her apartment, but, at the same time, she recognized it and felt almost as though she'd been expecting it.

A moment later the door creaked open. She felt her hands tighten around the bed sheets, and her eyes widened as she saw who came through the door. She let out a scream of confusion, but to her complete surprise the intruder didn't respond. In fact, she was now leaning against the pillows as if waiting for him to join her in the bed.

He slipped off his steal gray robe, matching perfectly with his eyes, to reveal dark green silk boxers.

And then it dawned on her. She wasn't in her bed at all! She was at Malfoy Manor! And when she looked down at her hands, they weren't her hands, the left one bearing a stunning diamond ring as well as a simple silver wedding band.

She was Kanika. She was having a dream and in it she was Kanika.

"Draco," she said, but no words issued from her lips as he climbed into bed beside her.

"I'm not going to hurt you," came his rough voice, sending immediate chills through Hermione's being. She knew these were only Kanika's feelings, though she reasoned that she would be feeling the same thing if it were really her in the situation. But until she could figure a way to will herself awake, then she was going to gave to somehow deal with what her brain thought was happening. "I waited, and I think I've proven to you that I'm not going to hurt you or let anyone else hurt you. You're my wife, and we need children."

Hermione wanted to knee him in the groin so hard that he could never have another child again. Who did he think he was talking to her like that? Well, talking to Kanika like that. Talking to _any_ woman like that. She wasn't a damn trophy!

"Do _we_ need children?" she heard herself say before she realized what was happening. She was seeing the whole picture now. She wasn't only playing Kanika in a dream, she was reliving an experience that already happened. She was reliving the night they consummated their marriage, the night she read about in her letter to Tauret. Which meant—

Hermione kicked and shoved and pushed at Draco's hard body that hovered over her. Though he was still fully clothed, as was she, she wasn't about to let this go any further. How could this happen to her! All she wanted was to know a little about the guy, so that she'd feel save enough around him. But no. Her brain had to do a one-eighty on her and now she was going to have to _have sex_ with him! Granted it wasn't real, it was a dream, an illusion, something that wasn't even happening to her, but so someone in the past. But that didn't make it feel any less real. And when she woke up later she would still feel dirty and used and wouldn't be able to look anyone in the face.

"Yes," Draco said sternly, and wrapped one of his unbelievably strong hands around her upper arm to grab her attention. Clearly all the kicking and pushing had all been in her mind, and she still lay helpless and submissive beneath him. "We _need_ children. That was the whole point of this marriage."

"Screw you!" Hermione screamed and, with all her might, shoved him back. And to her utter amazement, it actually worked. Well, sort of worked. She managed to move Kanika's hands so that they were on Draco's chest. And she could feel her mind pushing, trying to do what it was being ordered to do. But she couldn't help but wonder what she could be doing to the course of history. Sure, it was only a dream, but this was the Wizarding World. _Anything _was possible.

With a heavy inward sigh, she dropped her hands and gave up.

He seemed pleased with this, with her hands back down and out of his way, and proceeded to undress her. Thankfully, Kanika had turned her head away and so Hermione didn't have to watched, didn't have to see what Draco was doing to her. She felt a vague sharpness between her legs and when Kanika turned her head back, Hermione realized that she wasn't really feeling what was happening. Maybe on some psychological level, but not what Kanika was feeling, not what she really happening. From then on she was able to block everything out and let things take their course.

"How do you feel?"

Hermione didn't have the faintest idea how to answer. Kanika, however, did.

"We will have children," she said confidently.

"Good," he sighed, and relaxed his shoulders.

He was about to climb off her, when the most peculiar thing happened. He stopped and looked deep into her eyes, as if somehow he knew it wasn't his wife before him. And he looked sad, yet resilient. He was nothing of the cowardly boy Hermione knew in school, running and crying from anything that was too difficult to handle. Somehow he'd grown up and into a powerful man. And what startled her more, was that the Draco before her was five years younger than the one she knew today. What could have happened in the short time between this moment and the day he fled Hogwarts with Snape?

"Have you really changed?" she whispered, and it wasn't Kanika speaking, it was her, and he'd heard her words and was looking at her with a puzzled expression.

"I need a shower," he said, and went to get out of bed.

"Draco." She grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "England is very cold," and now the words were Kanika's again. "As compared to Egypt, I am freezing every night and every day."

"What—"

She pulled him in the rest of the way, pressing her lips hard against his in their first kiss, their first _real_ kiss. At the wedding it had been planned and rushed and had nothing of feeling in it. But this kiss—it meant something. It was the beginning of a new time for Kanika and Draco, a new life. In it she was telling him that she would cooperate from now on, if she could, and that life at the Manor would be easier, or as easy as was possible in the midst of a war.

When she finally released him, Hermione felt as though her lips and insides were on fire. The pain of being a virgin—though in real life she obviously wasn't—she hadn't felt, but that kiss, there was something in that kiss that was so real that it pushed through the shell of the dream and she was able to actually experience it.

Draco sat back and stared at her, stared at his wife, a look of confusion and frustration painting his features. He didn't know what to make of what had just occurred. And, being a Malfoy, he would just assume it never happened and go on as normal.

"I'm never going to love you," he said as he stood and collected his robe, and she could see in his heart that he wasn't meaning his words to be harsh. He was simply stating a fact.

"Nor would I want you to," Kanika replied just as honestly. "All I'm looking for here is some comfort. I'm sixteen, Draco. Fifteen when we were married two months ago. I'm no more an adult than you are, but I'm learning fast. War changes people, and sometimes it's for the better."

"What do you know about war?" And he was suddenly very angry. The slight compassion, or whatever it was when he'd aloud her to kiss him, had completely vanished. He was the hard man again. "What do you know about me for that matter? You say you're no more an adult than _I _am? But if you would look at me you would see how much of a child I'm _not_. I don't pine for things I know I can't have. I don't pine for things that I _can_ have, because this is a war, Kanika, and I had to grow up. You might still be sixteen, but I'm not. In fact, I was never a child. Not in this house, not in this world. The war we're in—you've only seen a glimpse of it. I've been living it my whole life. The war didn't end when Scarface Potter defeated the Dark Lord as an infant. Death Eaters hid in the shadows. _My father_ hid in the shadows, and he taught me everything I needed to know for when the Dark Lord returned. My parents didn't love each other, and I am the product of their determination to please their lord." He slipped on his robe, not taking his eyes off her for an instant. "Our child will be the same."

Hermione bolted upright and nearly tumbled out of bed. Her heart racing, she took in her surroundings. She was back in her room, in her apartment, miles from Malfoy and Malfoy Manor.

"Merlin," she whispered, leaning back on her pillows with a great sigh of relief. She knew all along that it was a dream, but being out of it was certainly different. She never wanted to fall asleep again.

Climbing out of bed, she pulled on her big fluffy scarlet robe, a gift Mrs. Weasley had bought her this past Christmas. She went into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea for breakfast, and was halfway back across the living room to go pick out an outfit for the day, when the fireplace sparked and a head appeared. But not just anyone's head.

"Malfoy," she gasped, and grabbed at her robe to make sure it was fully closed.

"I'm going out of town tomorrow. I'll be gone all weekend."

"And what if I had plans this weekend? What if _I _was going out of town?"

"But you're not. I checked with Scrimgeour. He said you'd be 'delighted' to watch Farsiris," he said, a vindictive grin creeping across his features.

"You know what Malfoy?" And before he could retort, she spit out, "Kanika is so damn lucky she's dead and doesn't have to put up with your bullshit anymore."

She didn't even wait for his head to vanish and the fireplace to return to normal before she stormed out of the room. Scrimgeour was in for an ear-fill this morning.

* * *

Please don't be mad at me. I've been so caught up at home that I haven't had time to get on the computer. And when I do someone else is on, and even then sometimes I have writer's block. I seem to write better and have more ideas when I'm at school, and I definitely can't wait to get back in two weeks. I'll have my computer back and my old schedule—no more waiting a month for updates :)

REVIEW to see what happens next!


	6. The Truth

Recap:

"You know what Malfoy?" And before he could retort, she spit out, "Kanika is so damn lucky she's dead and doesn't have to put up with your bullshit anymore."

She didn't even wait for his head to vanish and the fireplace to return to normal before she stormed out of the room. Scrimgeour was in for an ear-full this morning.

* * *

Chapter 6: The Truth

"I am one of the best Aurors you have," Hermione said, clenching her fists beneath her cloak in an attempt to keep her anger in check. "What am I doing _babysitting_ every week, Minister? If you don't think I'm capable enough to do any real work, then just say so."

Scrimgeour was more than taken aback by her words, and for a long while could only stare.

"Is that what you think?" And of course she couldn't have been more wrong. She was his most valuable talent.

"What else am I supposed to think? Yesterday Harry left for a three-week assignment, and Ron is leaving in two days for his. Every other Auror is busy making a difference around here. But what am I doing?" she asked with a heavy sigh. "I'm watching the daughter of a man I can hardly stand the sight of!"

She wanted to say more, much more. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs about the dream she'd had and the fact that she couldn't get the image out of her head. She wanted to grab the Minister by his collar and make him see just how fed up she was with being either ignored or misused. She was the top of her Auror class for Merlin's sake! She deserved better than this.

But instead she stood in silence, awaiting his reply. After all, she still valued her job.

"Miss Granger," he began, choosing his words carefully. He'd never seen her this angry before. It was almost frightening. "You are irreplaceable. This Ministry would be lost without you. If you hadn't been there during the war—"

"I'm not looking for praise, _sir_. I just want to do my job, to do what I'm paid for."

"Hermione—" And this caught her full attention; Scrimgeour almost never used people's first names. "—Mr. Malfoy _is_ your job. He's part of this Ministry and the work he does is essential. But because he is so secretive, we can't know his true motives. We know he won't do anything to hurt his daughter, but that's the extent of it."

"You don't trust him?" She didn't know what to think. Wasn't that what everyone wanted from her? And yet the Ministry itself didn't even trust him enough to go without surveillance. "What about…Ginny Weasley?"

"That's why we offered him a job, because he risked his life to help us. And he's done nothing since to make us believe that he's still on the dark side, but also nothing to gain our trust."

"What exactly is my job then?" It was a question she needed an answer to, and one she dreaded asking.

"To do what you've been doing," he said simply. "Only now I would like full reports on what goes on."

"So this whole time I've been…spying on Malfoy? For you?"

"Yes."

"How could you not tell me!" she cried, slamming her hands down on his desk. She received the desired reaction, though—Scrimgeour jumped back in his chair and was giving her his complete and undivided attention.

After a minute's silence he slowly asked, "But would you have agreed?"

"No!"

He sighed and attempted to hide his cringe at her volume and tone.

"Exactly," he said. "Listen Miss Granger, we need this. Draco Malfoy is a brilliant asset, but only if he's genuine. You've already gained his trust. Clearly he doesn't see you as a threat if he's allowing you to look after his daughter."

"I _knew_ everyone didn't trust him," she groaned, her arms crossed, eyes on the ceiling. What happened to the good old days when she and Harry and Ron ran through the woods chasing Death Eaters? Or camped out in caves for weeks at a time to follow a lead? She'd give anything to have that back. Even desk work was welcome compared to this.

"This is very important," the Minister stressed. "You'll need to get close to him, find out things he wouldn't tell just anyone."

"Oh, and how do you suppose I go about that?" she sneered.

"Hermione." Was it just her or was the Minister of Magic actually begging? Maybe they really did need her.

"Fine," she caved. "But," she added before he could say a word, "when I want out, I'm out. And I want a raise if I'm going to have to be all buddy-buddy with Malfoy."

"If that's what it takes."

"This is why you let me go to Egypt, isn't it?"

"Miss Granger—"

"Fine, whatever. If you need me I'll be at Malfoy's. My new best friend." Usually she wouldn't speak to her superiors this way. But there was just something so infuriating about Malfoy. She couldn't stop herself. She'd been waiting since her first year at Hogwarts to get him back for all he'd done to her and her friends. She really should have been thanking the Minister for this opportunity to mess with him. But, right now, she was mad. And she would stay mad for a long time.

"Miss Granger?" Scrimgeour called as she was halfway out the door.

"Yes?"

"Please remember to be…subtle. We can't afford to have Mr. Malfoy finding out."

"Of course," she said, now feeling a bit calmer. Perhaps this could all work in her favor.

"I imagine you will discuss this with your close friends, but—"

"If you think you have to worry about Harry or Ron or Ginny then you're sorely underestimating your staff. Good afternoon, Minister."

* * *

"Why the hell is it _me_ that has this assignment?" Hermione groaned, stirring her tea that was now cold and untouched. She, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna (Harry was on assignment) all sat in one of the Ministry worker break rooms. It was their lunch break, well, everyone except for Luna, who managed to give her boss (because all departments have bosses lower than the Minister) the slip to join them. Though no one knew who she'd tried to skip for, seeing as she'd been on dates with both Ron and Neville, and couldn't seem to choose who to be with. Of course she was friends with them all, but relationships were always a factor.

"Because you're the best for it," Neville offered with a shrug.

"Because Malfoy trusts you," Ron said.

"No," Hermione bit. "Malfoy trusts that I'm not going to let his daughter die; that's different from trusting _me_. And, as for being the best, I'm the _worst_ for this damn thing. I despise Malfoy, and the last I checked he reciprocated those feelings. What the hell is Scrimgeour trying to pull?"

"Well," Ginny said, feeling slightly uncomfortable around Hermione at the moment. She felt as though, somehow, this was her fault. It was because of her, after all, that Malfoy had a job with the Ministry. Sometimes she almost wished he hadn't saved her. "Maybe it's because you and Malfoy are enemies."

Everyone stared at her as if she were about to throw her masterful Bat-Boogy Hex at them.

"What? It makes sense," she reasoned. "You don't get along, therefore you're is willing to pry into his personal life. You get along with his daughter, so you're willing to protect her and look out for her."

"There's one problem with that," Hermione sighed. "Malfoy still doesn't like me. Which means he won't be as willing to give the information as I am to take it."

"Who cares! His has a penseive, right? Problem solved."

Hermione sat back in her seat, eyeing her friend idly. She had a point. If Hermione hadn't been so angry at her situation, she might have seen it too.

"It still sucks," she grumbled. "Why can't I ever take a month to trek after goblins and trolls?"

"Forget them!" Luna said, and everyone laughed, because they knew what was next. "What about Beratunas? And Fory-Igletines? No one ever tries to negotiate with them."

"Maybe that's because Beratunas don't have ears?" Ron suggested, humoring her. Maybe they did have ears. But how would he know, seeing as they didn't exist?

"That's true," she sighed. "I forgot."

* * *

Draco didn't so much as look at her as she entered the Manor, a small bag over her shoulder for the weekend. He hugged and kissed Farsiris good-bye, then disappeared out the door to wherever his assignment had been. It was only after he was gone, and she and Farsiris were in the library, deciding on a book to read, that something occurred to her—if Draco was going off on all these missions, then how was she supposed to get information?

_Because they know about the penseive_, she deduced sadly. Why did she have to be their puppet?

When midnight rolled around, little Farsiris could no longer keep her big, bright eyes open. She slumped over and Hermione shut the book, gathering the child of her enemy into her arms. So many things were running through her mind. She still didn't understand how this girl could have turned out so wonderful after being raised solely by Draco, for Kanika hadn't lived to her first birthday.

With the soft light of the moon basking over her, Hermione shut the door to Farsiris' room and headed directly downstairs and down the hall to where she knew the penseive to be. But when she got there, she was beyond shocked. Not because the luminescent bowl wasn't there, but because it _was_. Why would Draco leave it there when he knew she knew where it was? He was smarter than that for sure.

Just to be safe, she cast a spell to ensure that no dark magic or protection spells had been done recently in the room. When she was satisfied, she dove in, in the proverbial sense. She wanted to get it over and done with so she could analyze what she'd seen and not have to do it again for a long time. Because, as much as she enjoyed making Draco uncomfortable, she was the one uncomfortable with seeing his memories; she felt cold and dead inside being there—the way he must always feel.

It was Malfoy Manor, as she figured it would be, where the penseive took her. It was the nursery again, only this time Kanika was not there. Draco stood in the doorway, his face covered in dirt and smears of blood, a deep bruise already forming on his left cheekbone. He carried two wands, one broken, one whole, but just barely. The second appeared—for Hermione had come to learn quite a bit about wands while working at the Ministry—slightly more feminine, with a twist carved into the wood and much lighter in color. It must have been Kanika's, which meant the memory she was witnessing was right after she'd been killed on the battlefield.

A straggled cry, gurgling in a tiny throat, came from the crib. Draco's grip loosened and the wands fell to the carpeted floor, making not a sound.

Slowly, uneasily, he took steps towards his daughter, alone and upset across the room. His face was scrunched into a look of discomfort and irritation. But mostly he looked tired and maybe a little afraid. This would be, after all, the first day after he'd decided to join the light side, if Hermione was thinking correctly.

He didn't reach into the cradle or even touch it. He stood there, staring at the infant, the chubby baby version of who Farsiris would become. Hermione was on the other side of the crib, her hands on the rail. She had been such a gorgeous baby; soft black hair and still-blue eyes. Later, of course, they would change to that beautiful caramel. On instinct, she reached in and touched the child, her uterus sending shivers through her at the softness of her. Why couldn't this be her baby she was staring down at? Why hadn't she said yes when Ron wanted to have children? Granted, he'd proposed the idea after the divorce, because he too wanted children and couldn't think of a better mother than Hermione. For a long time she thought it over, finally saying no when she realized the only person she wanted to create life with was the person she loved. Maybe, when she grew older, close to the age when she couldn't no longer have children, she would accept Ron's offer, or anyone else's. It was cruel that she didn't have kids.

"What do I do with you?" Draco whispered. Hermione nearly jumped, having forgotten he was there, so enthralled was she with Farsiris. But she had been thinking that same thing just then; what would Draco do with her now? He obviously had to experience taking care of anyone other than himself. Hell, for most of his life he didn't even do that. She wondered how scared she would be if it were her in that situation. It _almost_ made her feel sorry for him.

It was five minutes later that Draco finally leaned in to pick up his daughter, his cries having subsided. She sat so peacefully, so comfortably, in his arms. It was as though Draco had been her only parent all along, the way she looked at him.

"How can you be my daughter?" A whisper again. Did he think he'd upset her with a normal tone?

Soon she became fussy. Draco called in a house-elf (Hermione cringed) and ordered the baby's bottle be brought up. It was the most amazing thing, Hermione decided, watching Draco feed his child. It was the simplest, and most natural, of things, but for him it was stunning. It made him a real person, instead of the demon he'd always been. His gestures were never fast and harsh, but gentle, slow, careful. He tickled her plump cheek with his pinky finger as he fed her; she giggled and Hermione wanted to faint.

She was sound asleep once she finished eating, her little head tilted back slightly. He took his time lying her back down, and when he did he couldn't seem to tear himself away. It was the strangest behavior she'd ever seen; well, with Draco, that is. He was acting as though she were a prized possession, his favorite toy, but nothing as vulgar.

"I hate you Kanika," he growled under his breath. He kissed Farsiris on the forehead one last time, then turned away. "I love you…Issa." The words stuck in his mouth, sounding dull and distorted, but they were still pure and true. And he hated his late wife for being right.

The next memory, which made itself known almost immediately, was some time later. Farsiris was bigger and she and Draco sat on the floor of the nursery, surrounded by odd-looking toys that Hermione figured were wizard toys. Growing up muggle did have its disadvantages.

Draco slipped his hands under Farsiris' armpits and stood her up. When he was sure she could stand on her own, he let go and slid back a few feet to watch her. Hermione held her breath. Was she—and just then, right before her eyes, Farsiris took a step. One, then two, her face alight with joy. She giggled and took wobbly step after wobbly step towards her father. Draco's eyes were so wide, his arms outstretched incase she fell.

"Merlin," Hermione whispered. "It's her first steps."

"Knot!" Draco called, and instantly a different house-elf from the previous memory appeared. "Get my camera," he ordered. "Merlin, she's walking."

Farsiris stumbled into Draco's arms, and if she didn't know better, she'd say there were tears in his eyes.

"That's a whole three weeks sooner than when I started to walk," Draco told Knot. "She's going to be brilliant. Her first word was dragon, you know. Dragon." He sighed and hugged his daughter. "She's perfect."

Hermione dropped back into reality, her heart pounding and her eyes wet. This was too much, too fast, too…too crazy! She'd wanted answers and now that she was getting them, she couldn't handle it. It was the equivalent to seeing Voldemort cuddle a puppy and then not kill it.

She tried to rationalize, tried to tell herself that of course Draco would love his own daughter, but she just couldn't grasp it. Him loving anyone, anything thing, other than himself was absolutely preposterous.

"I need a drink," she murmured, and retreated to the kitchen.

* * *

Two nights later, and Draco returned. He came pounding through the front door, his cloak torn almost to shreds, and looking much the way he had in the memory Hermione witnessed earlier. But that wasn't the startling thing about him.

He was smiling.

Farsiris threw herself at him, screaming, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

He lifted her off the floor and twirled her around, ignoring Hermione's presence completely. She stood there, arms crossed, trying to work something out in her head. Why was it that Draco allowed her to see him this way, so carefree and loving with his daughter? Surely he knew she could relay the information to someone. Didn't he care what they thought of him? He was supposed to be cold and cynical, that was his reputation.

"I missed you," he said before setting her back down. He then reached into his cloak and produced a small package. Farsiris squealed and ripped it away from him. Inside was a gorgeously crafted silver necklace, and on it was a pendant of the Egyptian goddess Isis. Merlin, he was poignant. "She's the Egyptian goddess of the stars," he explained to her.

"Egypt," Farsiris said. "Where mommy lived?"

He nodded and smiled again. Hermione cringed, but couldn't look away. It was like watching a car accident.

"She's alive, Granger," Draco said, finally addressing her. "Good job."

"Yeah," she said, just as vindictively. "When I pushed her off the roof she didn't get a scratch."

"Mudblood," he muttered.

"What's a mudblood?" Farsiris asked; she'd been listening to them.

Hermione gasped and could only stare, while Draco at first chuckled, then looked much like Hermione did.

"Never say that word," he told her, to Hermione's complete surprise. "Never. Understand?"

She frowned, as if being scolded, and nodded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Right. Now go put that in your jewelry box so it doesn't get lost."

When she was gone, Draco turned to Hermione, glaring.

"What did you look at this time, Granger? I know you couldn't help yourself."

"I did no such thing, Malfoy. I have better things to do than spy on you," she lied. Better things? This was her job, for Merlin's sake!

"Right," he laughed. "We'll see."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. You can leave now."

"And you can drop dead."

* * *

I hope someone liked this.

**REVIEW** PEOPLE! I'M NOT WRITING THIS STUFF FOR ME!


	7. Dramione

**A/N: This chapter gets confusing towards the middle, but just read to the end to understand it.**

Recap:

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. You can leave now."

"And you can drop dead."

* * *

Chapter 7: Dramione

A month since her last visit, Hermione was surprised to find a smile gracing her features as she entered Malfoy Manor. The front door had been unlocked, for she was expected, and only Farsiris was there to greet her, an angel glowing in the most perfect little white dress. Around her neck she wore the Isis pendant.

"Hey there kiddo," Hermione said. "Where's your dad?"

"Hermione!" was her reply as she launched herself into the older woman's arms, snuggling her face deep into her mop of curls. "Where have you been?"

"I've had a lot to do at work, honey. I'm sorry. I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Well this would make the strongest stomach churn."

"Can it Draco," Hermione said in the sweetest voice she could. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Farsiris leaned her head back and frowned. She may have been young, but she wasn't stupid. Her father and the woman she'd attached herself to like a mother were fighting; they were always fighting. She didn't understand it, and never could at her age, but she didn't like it.

Draco stepped forward and gently took Farsiris from her, hugging his daughter close, his eyes piercing Hermione the whole time over her shoulder. How could he look so loving, yet so malicious at the same time.

"She's mine," he mouthed wordlessly, then set her down. "Can you wait in the library while I talk with Hermione?" he asked of Farsiris. She frowned again, but agreed and scampered off. When they were alone, his eyes shifted to Hermione, but she was too dazed to notice. Had he just used her first name? "Granger," he snapped, then came even closer.

He took hold of her wrist. She flinched, but it never occurred to her to pull away. This was too intriguing.

"The last thing Farsiris needs is another woman coming into her life, then leaving," he said slowly, making every syllable perfectly clear. His glare was secure, his tone threatening. She could feel his breath on her face; he smelled like strawberries and tea. "She doesn't need a mother," he clarified, "but for some insane reason she's fixed herself to you. Swear to me you won't disappoint her."

The conviction with which he spoke had her so taken aback that for a long time she didn't answer, having to process and re-process his words.

"What are you saying?" she asked, her own voice flat and small in comparison. When had she ever been afraid of this man? Never, that she could recall. But there was something so incredibly terrifying about someone protecting their child. Terrifying, and somehow sexy. She cringed at the thought. Malfoy sexy?

"Don't be dense, Granger." She didn't realize he'd come even closer, and now he held both wrists and had her arms yanked forward, almost around his waist. She felt something like pain where his fingers pressed into her skin, but nothing could distract her from his fierce expression. He was murderous. "Either you leave now and never show your face again, or you're here for good. You're permanent in her life until she decides otherwise."

"How the hell can you stand there and say that to me?" she barked, and now she did pull herself free, stumbling back, because he tried to grab her again. "It's my life, Malfoy. I decide—"

His hands were on her face before the first part of her next word could form in her thoughts. His fingers curled into her hair, tearing at it like an angry animal, and his thumbs, calloused from Merlin knew what, sunk deep beneath her cheekbones. He was so close, his nose actually touching hers, that for an instant the most disturbing feeling washed over her. It was like he was preparing to devour her.

"Make no mistake," he growled, and as he spoke his lips brushed hers faintly. "I may have switched sides, but that does not mean I have to tolerate you." If he hadn't sounded threatening before, he most certainly did now. "My daughter is the most important thing in my life; I _refuse_ to have her hurt because of a _dirty little, stuck up mudblood_."

"Is this how you get your daughter to listen to you?" Hermione spat, saliva actually coming out.

He slapped her so hard across the face that there was no question, to either of them, there would be a bruise.

"Fuck," he swore, tearing at his own hair. "Why the hell did you say that?"

"Because I just love being hit," she sneered, holding her wounded cheek. "If you think this is going to make me agree to your twisted idea of a maternal figure for Farsiris, then you're sadly mistaken. Times are different, Malfoy. Violence doesn't get you everything."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, his voice the softest she'd ever heard it, though nothing anyone would call kind. But it wasn't what he said, or his tone, that made her look up and drop her hand. It was his manner, the way he stood, tilted slightly to the side; he was almost hovering, not daring to approach her again.

"I could have you thrown in Azkaban for what you just did," she lied. He knew this, of course, but any threat of Azkaban was worth second thought. "Violence isn't quite what the courts are looking for in a father. If you think I'm interfering with Farsiris now, it's nothing compared to how much of a living hell I could make your life. I could have her gone in the blink of an eye, and there's nothing you could do about it." She took a breath, trying to keep herself from crying. Her face hurt so bad! And she was so angry! "I'd think twice about hitting me next time."

"Let me heal it," he offered, his wand out. "It's going to bruise."

"It's called evidence."

He started for a moment, then forced himself back to his previous demeanor.

"You can't take her from me." The sadness and fear on his face was so thick a blind man could have seen it. "Hermione," he whispered, and she literally shuddered. "I love her."

Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his wand, his other hand around the back of her neck to hold her head in place. When the tip made contact with the bruise, Hermione fought the urge to flinch, but otherwise allowed him to heal her, to take advantage of her yet again. It reminded her immediately of the conversation she'd had with Ginny.

He stepped back and the pain was gone.

"I wish you were dead," she said, touching her cheek where the tenderness had just been. She wished she hadn't allowed him to do that. She wished she could send him to jail. But she could never do that to Farsiris.

"The feeling's mutual," he countered; right back to normal.

"I'm only doing this for Farsiris. She needs someone in her life _worth_ looking up to."

"As long as I get what I want. I'll see you tonight."

* * *

Hermione ran full tilt down the corridor, the air catching in her lungs like fishhooks. She wheezed, she sputtered, she held her side, bloody and aching, her other hand clutching her wand painfully.

What was going on? This wasn't supposed to happen!

Paintings, tapestries, mirrors, doors—they flashed by, a blur of mock-beauty. She knew she couldn't stop, she had to keep running, there was something wrong. Every cell in her being was screaming, burning, with fear. It was instinct, a hunch. But she _knew_ it was true.

Barreling into Farsiris's room, she found the bed a heap of sheets, twisted and ugly in their emptiness. She was supposed to be there, supposed to be asleep. How could she have let this happen! No one would believe it wasn't her fault; they would instantly suspect the worst, and then it was straight to Azkaban. But what did that matter if Farsiris was gone anyway? She was everything.

Bile climbed her throat like a fiery serpent, splashing hot liquid onto the floor.

"I have," she coughed, "do to something."

The nausea was too much.

Agony ripped relentlessly at her soul, shredding her only resolve, the only thing that truly mattered in this world. Why wasn't she dead yet? Surely the pain she was feeling could kill her; and she should be dead, having been so careless, so irresponsible.

A light voice drifted into the room, soft and malevolent.

"Did you think you could possibly get away with what you did?" they laughed.

It was coming from the hall.

Hermione sprang to her feet, her veins pumping so violently they would burst. She didn't even see the face as she pounding the body, with a deafening crunch, into the opposite wall. A painting fell, ruined. And then a mirror. And then she saw who it was.

"M-Mother?" she whispered, she rasped, she cried.

The older woman stood, dusting off her robes, and smirked.

"Who did you expect? The Dark Lord himself?" she laughed, and Hermione saw her wand. She dove for it, unsuccessfully, crashing headfirst into the same wall.

"Give her back!" she choked out.

"Right away, dear."

"Farsiris!" Hermione screamed; her lungs felt like they collapsed; her throat felt knotted. "FARSIRIS!"

The tiniest hint of a cry could be heard in the distance.

Her mother's face clenched with anger, and she sent Hermione flying back into the room, her head whipping back. Any more force and her neck would be broken.

"I'll kill you." When she coughed this time, there was blood, blood and vomit.

"Please," she laughed. "Try."

Hermione climbed, unsteady, useless, dying, to her feet. Beads of sweat dropped from her nose; her wand weighed a thousand pounds.

"If you couldn't—" But that was as far as she got, as Hermione found the hate, found the courage, found the strength to howl:

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The room flashed brilliant and green.

Hermione collapsed on the floor.

The room faded soft and black.

* * *

She was screaming when she woke up. Screaming, and in someone's arms. If she had taken a moment to open her eyes, she'd have felt no pain, physically anyway.

"Granger," snapped a harsh, familiar voice.

Hermione opened her eyes, gasping, to see Draco over her, holding her.

"Wh-Where—?"

"I knew you couldn't resist," he sneered, yet still held her, protecting her from her own fears.

"Where's Farsiris!"

"She's fine, as always."

"But—"

"It was the penseive," he groaned, rolling his eyes.

"The…the penseive?" What the hell was he talking about? She'd been there, she'd seen it, she'd _felt_ it.

"I charmed it so you would become me in my memories," he said matter-of-factly. "You saw and felt what I had seen and felt."

"But…but it was _my_ mother."

"Was it?"

Hermione's face went blank. Now that she was safe, and knew Farsiris was safe, and it hadn't really been real, she didn't know whether or not it had been her mother or his.

"Did that really happen?" she whispered.

"Of course it did. It's a penseive. It shows memories, not nightmares." He was being cold with her, mocking her, and yet she felt comfort and warmth.

She shuddered.

"I…I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he snorted, dropped her the few inches to the floor, and stood. "See what happens when you pry?"

"No one," she whispered, and she couldn't have stopped the tears with all the magic in the world, "deserves to feel that. No one."

"Not even me?" he laughed.

"No, Draco. Not even you."

* * *

Draco slumped into his over-stuffed office chair, his brain swirling. Did he really think she would stop trying to meddle in his personal life after tonight? And, if she did, then what was there for her to gain? She'd obviously been horrified at his memory, especially after the charm. There must be another incentive, something more powerful than fear. And he was determined to find out.

Veritaserum wouldn't work in a million years. She was a genius of a witch; she would spot the signs instantly. Hell, he wouldn't get past giving her a cup of tea. That right there was suspicious enough.

There wasn't much he could do right now. He had to wait, to see if she actually did use his penseive again. If not, then what did that prove?

He groaned loudly and leaned back, rubbing his face vigorously in frustration. Why did it have to be _that_ memory she'd stumbled into? Yes, he'd wanted her to feel his pain, but that was the last memory he'd wanted her to see. No one knew of that incident; no one knew what became of his mother during the war. He suffered alone. Well, he had suffered alone until tonight. Is that why the penseive just happened to be showing that particular horrible recollection? Had his charming of the basin caused it?

As much as he hated to admit it, as much as he knew she had hated to do the same, he agreed with her. No one deserved that kind of pain. Not ever her.

* * *

Hermione Apparated a mile from her building. She needed to walk, to clear her head of the frightening images that would no doubt haunted her for the rest of her life. What would she have done had it really been her and her own child?

It gave Malfoy a new dimension. He wasn't only Draco Malfoy, her former classmate. He was Draco Malfoy, loving and protective father. And though she'd known this before, it hadn't really been clear until now. He was a phenomenal father; Farsiris was a lucky girl to have him. But how could he be so gentle with her and then turn around and slap Hermione across the face?

There was only one way to find out. She had to go back into the penseive.

Just the thought made her want to be sick.

She didn't know what to do when she got back to her apartment. She paced the floors. She tried to read, tried to work, tried to eat. Finally she caved and went to her crutch.

The liquor burned tracks down her throat, and the sides of her face, as she sloppily poured Firewhiskey into her mouth. Within the hour she was so severely drunk that nothing could have stopped her from doing anything. Had the idea to kill herself popped into her head, she could have done it.

It was one of those drunken nights that no one remembers, that people have to tell you what stupid things you did the next day. And the next day intruded in through the un-curtained window, bearing down harshly.

Hermione woke up, hung-over and exhausted. Hermione woke up naked and _not_ alone.

* * *

Now that's something to talk about! Woo!

**REVIEW! **Or suffer not knowing what happens next :P

**Note:** I know the sequence with Hermione in Draco's penseive seemed rushed, but that's how it really happened for him. He was so determined to protect his daughter that he killed his mother instinctively, and very quickly, because he wanted there to be no chance of her getting away.


	8. Luna the Lion

Recap:

It was one of those drunken nights that no one remembers, that people have to tell you what stupid things you did the next day. And the next day intruded in through the un-curtained window, bearing down harshly.

Hermione woke up, hung-over and exhausted. Hermione woke up naked and _not_ alone.

* * *

Chapter 8: Luna the Lion

"No," she whispered, her head so heavy she could barely lift it. "Merlin no…"

Beside her he stirred, his back muscles flexing as life breathed into them. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. And they he saw her.

"Don't worry," he said softly, and smiled. "Nothing happened. I made sure of that."

"Why am I here?"

"You Flooed yourself here last night. Drunkest I've ever seen you." He made a little face that showed his concern. "What happened?"

"I…" She sighed and looked down, her naked chest just barely covered with a sheet. "Can we talk over breakfast? And tea?"

He smiled and nodded, climbing out of the bed they'd shared last night, a bed they'd shared so many times before. He wore a pair of loose fitting red flannel PJ bottoms, his Quidditch-tough body looking better than she remembered.

"You stay here," he said when she went to get up. "I'll do it."

"Thanks." She leaned back on the pillows, thanking whoever that he had been sober and able to stop them from making a huge mistake. "You're the best, Ron."

* * *

"So what did happen?" Hermione asked, sipping on the calming tea that was slowly washing her hangover away.

"That's what I thought you could tell me," Ron answered. He devoured a pancake whole and washed it down with some pumpkin juice. "You usually don't…get like that. Not unless something really bad happened."

"Remember the penseive? Malfoy's?"

Ron nodded.

"I went in it last night." Her brow furrowed as her mind brought images from Draco's memory back. "But he charmed it…so I would…so I felt what he had felt. Ron." She looked up, tears already glistening her eyes. "It was the most horrible thing I've ever experienced."

For the next ten minutes she described—barely—the memory of the penseive. By the time she was done her cheeks were soaked and Ron's face was contorted with rage. How dare Malfoy do that to her!

"Your turn," she coughed, wiping her nose with a napkin. "Why was I here last night?"

Ron's face dropped and he bit his lip. "Do you really want to know?"

This should have been a sign that she didn't want to know. But, stupidly, she said, "Well yeah."

"You were so drunk," he began, rubbing his forehead. "You…you came in my room and…jumped on me. You kissed me and…and tried to…" He trailed off, blushing. Hermione got the gist though, and was aghast.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered, feeling sick. "Why didn't I have any clothes on?"

The pink in his cheeks flushed crimson.

"You tried _really_ hard."

"You're a great friend, Ron," she said after a long pause. "Thanks for being there for me."

"Anytime."

* * *

It was sixteen days since she last saw Draco, sixteen days since she was at Ron's flat. Six days since she was supposed to have her period.

Bile climbing in her throat, Hermione ran through the halls of the Ministry, searching for a bathroom, for any place to expel her less-than-worthy breakfast of toast with jam and strong Earl Grey tea. She found a men's toilet just in time, shoving an old wizard out of her way as she dove for the bowl.

Relief. Disgusting, pink, stewy relief.

She sat back on her heels, raking her fingers through her tangled mass of curls. What the hell was going on? The last time she had sex was months ago, on a date with that wizard from Belgium who had been visiting London for a short while. And she'd had her period since then. The only other time she could remember anything close was—

Her face paled. She stood on shaky legs and crossed the room to the sink, splashing her face with icy water. She Accio-ed her purse, which nearly hit another unfortunate wizard who just happened to enter the bathroom at the same time the bag did. Digging into it, she pulled out a box of mints, downing half the box to cover the smell of vomit. She also happened to have a tiny travel-sized bottle of perfume, and spritzed herself.

"Is everything alright, Miss Granger?" asked the wizard who her bag nearly assaulted.

She smiled meekly and nodded. "Yes, Franklin, just a bit under the weather. I think I have that bug that's going around." Wasn't there always a bug going around? She prayed so.

"I hope you feel better. You should go home and get some rest."

"Yeah, I think I will. Thank you."

She slipped out of the lavatory before anyone else could come in, and made her way, a bit slower than before, back towards her department.

The door to the office was wide open, a beautiful girl with blonde locks and banana earrings standing at the threshold. She clutched a stack of files to her chest, and behind on ear a quill was stuck.

"Hermione, good morning," Luna said dreamily. "You look ill."

"Thanks Luna," she laughed bitterly. "I don't feel well."

"I'm sorry. I have some Hubadus Root if you'd like."

"No thanks. I think I'm going home to rest up."

"Well I have them if you change your mind. I'll be in my office." And without saying good-bye, which wasn't unusual, she drifted away.

Hermione dashed into the open office as soon as she was out of sight, slamming the door shut, and nearly ripping it off its hinges in the process.

"Bloody hell Hermione! What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she seethed, slamming her hands down on the desk. "I'm pregnant, that's what's wrong! Now I want some answers, and I want them _now_!"

The crowded halls outside seemed to stop as her voice carried out to them. She swore under her breath, then cast a Silencing Charm on the room, still incensed, nostrils flared.

"What are you talking about?"

"Damn it Ron!" she cried. "You lied to me! We did sleep together that night, and now I'm pregnant!"

He bit his lip, blushing this time with shame, instead of embarrassment as he had when discussing the night in question weeks before. It took him a moment—and Hermione had all day—to pluck up the courage to say anything. Finally, when he did, his voice was low and small.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, unable to look at her. "But I…it's…I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

"Damn right it is," she hissed, not bothering to take notice at how painful this was for him; how sorry he truly was.

"You were in my flat when I came home from the bar with Harry, Ginny, and Luna," he tried to reason, though he could only manage to sound hollow and plain. "I was drunk. I was so drunk Harry Apparated home with me to make sure I made it. He didn't know you were there, because you were in my room, waiting for me." He was talking so fast Hermione almost couldn't understand him. "When I saw you I was so surprised. And then you kissed me, and I kissed you back. I…I don't know what else to say."

"Why did you lie to me?" Her tone was a little softer now, for she did believe that he was sorry. They were both drunk; it was _completely_ his fault. But that didn't mean he had to lie to her.

"I didn't think it was real," he said truthfully. "I thought I'd imagined it. I wished I'd imagined it."

Hermione forced herself to sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She gripped the armrests, her palms sweating, her stomach churning, her heart sinking.

And then the most amazing thing occurred to her.

"I…I'm going to have a baby," she whispered, hugging her belly.

"I know," Ron groaned, head in his hands, still unable to look her in the eye. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sor—"

"No." She stood, walked around the desk, and embraced him, warm and sweet. "No, this is a good thing. Ron," she said, and kissed him on the cheek. "This is what I've always wanted…Thank you."

Ron stiffened and looked at her, confused.

"Wh—Are you serious?"

"Yes." She smiled, she grinned, her heart felt ten times bigger. "Yes, I am."

* * *

No one had ever seen Luna angry before. Not once. She was a completely different person, her dreamy blue eyes now fired up with rage. She was actually seething, her teeth clenched, her fists clenched.

"How could you!" she cried, her voice sounding so strange and unused to yelling. She ignored the room full of people that were their friends. It was the day after Hermione confronted Ron. They were at her flat, she'd made dinner, and she and Ron decided to tell them all together. They thought everything would be fine. They never expected this. "I thought we had something, Ron Weasley!"

Both Ron and Neville bit their lips. Ron, because it was true, they did have a thing. And Neville, because he and Luna also had something and she failed to acknowledge that. But he couldn't blame her. If he were in her situation, he'd be pissed too.

"But Luna—"

"This is _exactly_ why I don't invest myself in anyone! Everybody thinks that because I'm always happy I don't feel pain. But I do, Ron! How could you hurt me like that?"

He didn't even try to talk this time. There was nothing he could have said to make things better, or at least easier. He'd screwed up and he knew it. And, worst of all, he truly did care for Luna. He cared for Hermione too, but they were strictly friends. He wanted Luna, and only Luna.

"And you," she spat, rounding on Hermione, who had been standing, frozen in place with a pan full of sautéed vegetables. The pan crashed to the floor, carrots, zucchini, onions flying everywhere. No one seemed to notice. "I thought you were my friend. I never thought I'd see the day Hermione Granger would betray me. And for what?" Luna curled her nose in disgust. "Because you were upset over someone like Draco Malfoy?" she growled, frustrated. And then her eyes cleared, she bowed her head and sighed, a deep raspy sigh. "He's not worth your tears, Hermione."

"I'm so sorry Luna," Hermione said as she felt another oncoming wave of nausea. She shouldn't have eaten that sandwich at lunch. "I never meant for this to happen. I want you and Ron to be together. I'm not in love with him anymore. We're not together. It was just a big stupid mi—"

"I know you didn't mean it. I…I just…I can't not be mad, Hermione. I have to go." And with that she Apparated home. No one stayed much longer after that, Ron being the last to leave.

"I really screwed myself over, huh?" he groaned, rubbing his forehead in irritation. "I blew my chance with her."

"It's my fault," Hermione tried to reason. "I came on to you. I started this. And now…" She glanced down at her stomach where, in a few short months, a big belly would be. "I still can't believe I'm pregnant, Ron. This is so unreal. Your mum's going to cry."

"You're telling me. She's been dying for grandkids." He gave her a friendly peck on the cheek, then Flooed back to his flat, promising to stop by tomorrow and go to St. Mungo's with her for a check-up.

"So the mudblood got herself knocked up."

Hermione screamed so loud she thought her windpipe would rip apart.

"Malfoy!" she hissed, charging at the fireplace. "Just because I babysit for you, doesn't mean you have license to intrude upon my personal life whenever you please. This is unacceptable!"

"Isn't it a little early for a mid-life crisis, Granger?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy. It's not in my job description to talk to you."

His eyebrow arched at her choice of words.

"Job description?" he inquired.

"Well yeah," she sighed, not realizing that she could have just made a potentially grave error. "Scrimgeour is the intermediary here. If it weren't for him I wouldn't be doing this shit. I don't aspire to be you personal slave, you ass."

He smirked at her last comment, a small scenario going through his head where Hermione was shackled at the ankles, carrying a tray off fruit and wine for him, clad in one of those naughty maid outfits. He almost laughed out loud at his imagination, until he realized just how sexual the image was. He wanted to vomit.

"Whatever Granger. Be at my house tomorrow night at seven."

"And if I say no?" she asked haughtily.

"Don't tempt me," he laughed, disappearing in a swirl of smoke and flames.

* * *

A cup of tea resting in the palm of her head, Hermione stared out the window of her flat. There wasn't much of a view, and if she hadn't been so deep in thought, it might have occurred to her to charm the window for something more appealing, something serene and desirable to look at.

She was nearly twenty-three years old, and here she was, pregnant with her ex-husband's child after a night of drunken misery. How pathetic she was for being so overjoyed about it, she thought. What good could really come from this? Besides the obvious, that she would finally have her child. Too many other people were getting hurt, were taking her good news as a stab in the back. What was it going to be like after the baby was born?

She groaned and set the tea down, no longer thirsty. She felt so terrible about the situation with Ron and Luna. She truly did want them to be together, together and happy. Ron liked her so much, and everyone knew Luna likes him back. She also liked Neville, of course, and Hermione wanted him to be happy too.

Why was it that in times like this she craved the old days of the war? It was a selfish and cruel wish, but she couldn't help it. Back then things had been so exciting, so mysterious. They lived for each day, one at a time, and didn't worry about what the future would bring so long as they were alive. No one got upset over trivial things like relationships; there were real tragedies at hand, deaths climbing in number by the day. It was the worst time of her life, the worst time of any of their lives, and yet her heart still wanted it.

Or maybe it just wanted something more than the life of a secretary, because she was little more than that now. Her job had had so much meaning in the beginning; she was practically worshipped. And now?

She glanced at the fireplace behind her, thinking of Malfoy. Now he was exciting. He was unpredictable, rash, volatile, violent, mysterious. He was also cruel and evil and selfish. But, when she thought about it, he was the thing she'd been missing about life. Even if he made her feel lower than scum, even if she wanted to wring his neck every two seconds, and even if he had the capacity and want to harm her, to possibly kill her.

It was electrifying, breath-taking.

It was just what she wanted.

* * *

Ok, I know Hermione getting pregnant by Ron is not where you thought this story was going. But trust me. I will make things turn out for the best. Trust in me :) It's so sudden and so soon in the story for something so complicated and dramatic, but I have so much more planned. So I say again, trust me.

**REVIEW!**


	9. The Hall of Isis

Recap:

She glanced at the fireplace behind her, thinking of Malfoy. Now he was exciting. He was unpredictable, rash, volatile, violent, mysterious. He was also cruel and evil and selfish. But, when she thought about it, he was the thing she'd been missing about life. Even if he made her feel lower than scum, even if she wanted to wring his neck every two seconds, and even if he had the capacity and want to harm her, to possibly kill her.

It was electrifying, breath-taking.

It was just what she wanted.

* * *

Chapter 9: The Hall of Isis

"What are you doing here?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and somewhat gently pushed Draco aside to enter his foyer to get out of the cold. It was now early January, the holidays having come and gone with their usual storm of chaos and swiftness. Hermione had seen Draco and Farsiris around Christmas time, giving them both gifts, Draco's being a bottle of Firewhiskey seeing as she couldn't think of anything more practical to get him. And, oddly enough, Draco had a present for her as well, though when Farsiris was out of earshot he made sure she knew the only reason he was giving her anything was because Farsiris insisted on it. He gave her a simple plate silver bracelet, an inch wide, and set with a modest green stone (though she knew it probably cost a small fortune, but nothing he couldn't spare). She hated to admit it, but it was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry she'd seen (as simple as it was) and she wore it whenever she found an excuse to, conveniently forgetting to tell any of her friends where the bracelet came from.

In the time since Hermione found out she was pregnant, she and Ron told both their parents together, who were happy for them but wondered why they didn't just get married again. It took a little while for them to explain the situation, but in the end they truly were happy and grateful for having a grandchild (the first, obviously, for the Grangers, and the forth for the Weasleys: Bill and Fleur had two young children and Charlie and his fiancée had a toddler). Hermione was currently five weeks along and couldn't have been happier about the baby. Luna, on the other hand, hadn't said a word to her since that one fateful day and could barely look in her general direction. She heard from Harry and Neville that she was doing well enough, but still couldn't bring herself to forgive Ron or Hermione, though she had spoken to Ron at least twice.

Hermione tried her best to keep her spirits high when so much negativity was floating around. But some nights she still found herself curled against her pillows, sobbing into their softness. Blaming it on hormones, she would tell no one of her breakdowns, but the inevitability of someone finding out her distress was always in the back of her mind.

"Granger." Draco clamped his hand around her elbow, yanking her, back to his chest, against him. "Answer me."

She turned around gracefully and smiled. She wasn't going to let him ruin today for her for any reason.

"I came to take you and Farsiris on a little…" She paused and gave a small wave of her free hand. "…trip."

Draco released her arm, his brow furrowed with thought. He didn't know whether to demand she leave or inquire as to what she meant. Sure he was curious to know, but then that ran the risk of actually having to go through with it if it proved to be something Farsiris would enjoy. Because he never could deny her a thing. She was his greatest weakness.

"Where?" he found himself saying before he knew he'd thought it.

"It's a surprise, Draco."

"What?" he sneered. "You're using my first name casually now?" Because he couldn't think of anything more biting to say.

She shrugged, her smile never fading.

"Listen," she said, holding his attention because for some reason he couldn't turn away from the image of her standing there with a look so serene, her dark hair sprinkled lightly with snowflakes. She looked so much like Kanika right now it startled him. He was recalling one memory inparticular, towards the end, when she'd come in from outside, her cheeks flushed with the last flakes of winter in her hair; she had been comfortable then, both physically and in her situation with Draco and their marriage. She was beautiful beyond compare. "Hello?"

Draco's eyes refocused and he frowned. The last thing he needed was for her to catch him spacing out.

"Are you paying attention now?"

He grunted in response.

"Ok." She held his eyes to make sure. "This surprise is for Farsiris, but I see no harm in you coming along. Trust me when I say she will be phenomenally grateful." She paused, figuring how exactly she wanted to word this. And then she lifted her hand and placed it cautiously on his shoulder. "The idea just came to me. I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe it's just hormones, but I want to do this for Farsiris. She'll love it, I swear."

Draco surveyed her demeanor, the only thought running through his head being that he knew he would surely regret saying yes to this. But her conviction, her determination, told him he should agree and give Hermione what she wanted, which would in turn make his daughter happy. And, in the end, that's all that really mattered to him.

"Issa!"

Hermione flinched at the volume of his voice, though kept her smile nonetheless. She knew he'd say yes. He was, in some ways, very predicable now. If she offered him something that was beneficial to his daughter then he had no choice but to accept. It was as if he felt he owed her something and so denying her a thing was simply out of the question.

A few moments later Farsiris walked laggardly into the foyer, her head down and her dragon doll clutched to her chest. She was upset, that much was sure, but when she saw Hermione—a very unexpected sight—her eyes brightened and she ran into her surrogate mother's arms.

"Hermione," she gasped in her tiny child's voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," she said, eyeing Draco as she held his daughter up on her hip. He gave her a stiff, formal nod. "I have a big surprise for you. Put on your boots and cloak, Issa. Me and your daddy," she said selflessly, "are going to bring you somewhere you'll never forget."

* * *

"Will I _what_?" balked the woman with sun-drenched yellow hair, her blue eyes flaming with confusion and minor irritation. She had only come by for some tea and a little civil conversation, to get things back to normal. And what was happening now was simply, completely and profoundly inappropriate and uncalled for. She ought to slap him.

"Marry me," he repeated, only slightly less confident than a moment before. In his hands he held a small velvet box, a modest-size sapphire (her favorite) stone gleaming on a plain silver band.

"Ron Weasley!" she hissed, clenching her teacup so hard she swore it would break. How was it that she'd lived her entire life virtually anger-free, but in only a two-month span she'd been furious enough to fill a lifetime?

"Luna, please, hear me out." He stood from his knee and placed the box on the table. "I know you're mad and you have every right to be, but seeing you angry, seeing how I hurt you—it's _killing_ me. More than I thought it would."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her voice was softer now, though only through force. Since she'd been mad, she'd forced herself to control the new emotion to bring herself back to equilibrium. "More than you thought?"

"It means," he sighed, "that before I only thought I cared for you and really, really liked you."

"And now?"

"Luna…I…love you."

* * *

Farsiris wasn't the only one whose eyes tried in vain to climb from her head in an effort to see everything at once. Draco, clutching his daughter's small hand at his side, couldn't seem to control himself and let out something of a gasp when he saw (and fully comprehended) where they were.

"Granger."

She cleared her throat roughly.

"H…Hermione," he tried again, meeting her eyes. Now it was Hermione's turn to lose herself, because before her was something she'd never seen before: a man who always hated her was telling her with his eyes how grateful he was. She wanted to freeze this moment forever, to carry it with her so that whenever he berated or insulted her she knew he had something of good deep inside him, if only for his own child.

"Didn't I tell you it'd be perfect?" she sighed happily, and took his other hand. He flinched noticeably, and tried to pull away. "Come on." She rolled her eyes. "I want to show you something first, then we can look at everything. I made a deal with the owner. The whole place is ours today."

Draco eased his arm and, against his will, allowed Hermione to pull him along. Only two minutes later and she stopped before a doorway, the room beyond shrouded in darkness.

"Wait here," she instructed, and disappeared into the room. The click of her modest heels could be heard on the tiled floors. And then the room exploded with light and Farsiris gasped with delight, rocketing from her father's side to join the now visible Hermione in the room. "The Hall of Isis," Hermione announced, arms out wide, her coat somehow gone since she went into the blacked out room. Draco's eyes wandered, of their own volition, across Hermione's body, wrapped in a bust-tight butter cream dress that flowed out at the waist and billowed at the knees. Around its middle was a plain forest green satin sash, presumably tied in a bow at the back. Over her arms, to keep her warm because the building was quite drafty, she wore a green fitted woman's blazer to match the sash. Overall she looked fresh and simple, comfortable and glowing.

"I might be inclined to think you believe her to be your daughter," Draco whispered in Hermione's ear as they stood, side by side, and watched Farsiris scamper from statue to statue. Hermione had been absolutely right when the idea of taking Farsiris to a museum with the biggest Egyptian collection in the country came to her.

"You should be proud. I know I would be if she actually were mine."

"Gr—Hermione," he said, correcting himself before she had a chance to contort her face into a glare. He turned to face her, one eye still on Farsiris, as it always was. She was content, now stock-still in front of a portion of a wall painting featuring Isis that looked almost exactly like the necklace she wore. "I have to know…I…" He cleared his throat and rearranged his thoughts. How was he supposed to say this? "If anything happens to me—"

"Draco, are you asking me—"

He closed his eyes, his lips sneering as he tried his best not to strangle her in front of his daughter in a public place.

"I'm trying," she said, her fingers wrapping around his bicep. This got his attention. Not for the fact that she was touching him, but that her small hands actually had strength to them. Had he not been as strong as he was, surely the pressure she was exerting would hurt him. "I am trying _so hard_ to be civil with you, Draco. For our sakes as well as Issa's. Show me a measure of something in return, because if I really wanted to I could make your daughter hate you just as much as I do." She released him and came around to stand directly before him. "Now, tell me exactly what it is you're thinking. Who knows, maybe you'll get the response you want. If you show a little effort, that is."

"Farsiris doesn't have a godmother," he said, retraining himself from talking through his teeth. "So yes, I am asking what you thought I was."

Hermione's lips stretched into a grin and she came forward, giving him a kiss of gratitude on the cheek.

"That's all you had to say," she laughed, stepping back because she knew she was making him uncomfortable. "And yes, I will." She patted her tight stomach and laughed again. "How could I not?"

"Your hormones must really be out of whack," came his reply, his fingertips lightly touching the place where she'd kissed him.

She only smiled, then went to join Farsiris across the room.

* * *

Hermione carried a sleeping, and very much exhausted, Farsiris upstairs to her bedroom as Draco fixed some tea in the kitchen (he'd taken Hermione's teasing about him not being able to do anything without a house elf to heart and wanted to prove her wrong). Overall the rest of the day had gone beautifully, with Farsiris wearing herself out with excitement. They ended up staying for close to five hours, taking in each room slowly since they were the only ones there. Of course the whole museum wasn't completely Egyptian artifacts, but very much of it was, and the sections that weren't were just as great. Afterward they stopped at a small wizard-owned restaurant (nothing fancy) and had dinner. Farsiris fell asleep in their booth and that's when they decided to come back.

When she laid her down, she rolled over and opened her eyes as much as she could in her tiredness.

"I wish you were my mommy," she whispered, and not a moment later was back to sleep.

Hermione didn't know how to react. She clenched her fists, her eyes watering as she processed the small girl's words fully. Why did she feel so helpless right now? It was so tragic that Farsiris had never known her own mother. It made Hermione want to breakdown right there. Either that, or flee from the Manor and never come back. Of course she would do neither, and actually held herself together quite well considering the weight of her words and the hormones coursing through Hermione's veins.

"You look like death," was the first thing out of Draco's mouth when she came into the kitchen, her mug of tea prepared and sitting on the table he was at. "What happened?"

"I…Nothing," she said, and faked a yawn. "It was a long day."

Draco arched a skeptical eyebrow at her, but didn't inquire any further. After all, if it wasn't important enough to tell him (i.e. if it didn't involve any harm to his daughter) then he could care less.

"Thanks, by the way." She took a seat and grabbed her mug, savoring the warmth under her chin as she smelled it; strawberries.

"For what?" he drawled. He hadn't knowingly done anything for her. Nor would he.

"The tea. I really needed it."

He shrugged and continued to drink his own. Though, inside, he was wondering why he had made tea for her too. He'd gone into the kitchen to make some for himself, but, somehow, he'd filled two mugs and set one before a different chair at the table. He never did things like that, and especially not subconsciously, save for with his daughter. He concluded that Hermione was spending far too much time at the Manor (and in his life). First thing tomorrow he would owl the Minister of Magic and request to have his missions cut back for a while so he could spend more time at home with Farsiris. This was true, he really did want to spend less time going off for the Ministry, but the ultimate reason was to get away from Hermione before she did any real damage.

"Farsiris seemed to enjoy herself today," she said offhandedly, not comfortable with the dead silence. Not that silence made her uneasy, because she could sit comfortably for hours with her friends or family. It was that she was with Draco, which got the gears in her mind fired up to the point of a headache. She needed to make small talk to keep herself stable around him. "I'm glad I was right to take her there."

"She doesn't know much about her mother," he blurted out before he could stop himself. He hated talking about her to Farsiris, because he didn't want to upset her when it would inevitably dawn on her that she could never know her mother no matter how much she knew _about_ her. So he usually avoided discussing his late wife at all costs, hoping she wouldn't hate him for it later in life.

"Well then it's good I took her somewhere she could learn about her background." Hermione had entertained the idea of making him even more uncomfortable with what he'd said, but decided against it. Because, in the end, she knew she would want the same were she in his shoes. And she could appreciate that want so much more now that she was pregnant.

"What, no jabs at my terrible parenting?" he sneered, downing the rest of his tea. It scorched his throat, but he didn't care. She was acting deliberately nicer to him and he wanted to know why. It couldn't all have to do with Farsiris.

"If you're looking for a fight, you won't find one here. I'm exhausted and nauseous.

"What is with you lately, Granger? Drop the niceties. They don't fit here and you know it."

"Well forgive me for trying to bring some civility to our situation. Merlin knows we need it."

"No," he stressed. "We don't. Not us. So just stop."

"I'm not going to fight with you just because you think it's weird, Malfoy. You're an adult, act like one. We're not in Hogwarts anymore. And, even if we were, it's childish to act the way we do."

"What are you doing looking in my penseive?" he demanded, seemingly out of the blue. Though neither really thought it was. After all, why else would she be civil with him? He knew it and she knew it. It was just a matter of bringing things in the open.

"Learning to trust you," she said, that being the first thing to come to mind.

"That's a load of dragon dung and you know it."

"That seems to be an overreaching theme in our discussion tonight, Draco. Me _obviously_ knowing things I don't."

"Stop prying into my life, Granger!" he yelled, slamming his hands on the table. "Have I once even asked to know a single thing about you or your life since you've been watching my daughter?"

Hermione's face reddened and her stomach lurched. Before she knew it, she was rushing from the room, her hand over her mouth as she ran frantically for a bathroom. Luckily she made it, just in time, and spilled her dinner into the toilet. When she was finished, she stood and went to the sink to clean off, startled (to say the least) when she looked in the mirror and saw Draco leaning against the doorframe behind her.

"There's toothpaste in the right drawer."

She nodded her thanks and reached for it, also finding several unused toothbrushes.

"Can I?" she inquired, holding one up.

He shrugged. She wondered why he was still there.

"I never thanked you for today," he said after a long pause. He seemed to be relaxed with showing he was grateful. Hermione would never understand the man.

She shrugged, because the toothbrush was in her mouth, but mostly because she didn't know what to say. He was Draco Malfoy, after all. She half-expected a portal to hell or something to open up beneath her, that being easier to handle than the situation at hand.

"I'm taking you out for lunch tomorrow." It wasn't a request, and somehow this made her want to smile, though she wouldn't dare. Leave it to Draco to thank a person with gifts. But then that's how his world worked. He had money, he spent money.

"You're paying me back with a date?" she laughed. Well, he'd wanted a scuffle before. Now she was prepared to goad him some. Her stomach was empty of raging acids and her head was clear.

"Don't be vulgar, Granger. Take it or leave it, it's free food. But trust me, it'll be worth it for where I'd take you."

"Alright," she said, surprisingly easily. "I'll take you up on your offer, Malfoy."

"Very well." He nodded curtly and turned to go. "I'll meet you in the main lobby at noon. I trust you can let yourself out." And then he was gone.

* * *

"And you accepted?" Harry asked incredulously. "Why?"

"Because I need to make an effort with him, Harry," Hermione sighed. He was at her flat to check in on her. He, Ron, Neville, and once in a while Seamus had gotten in the habit it now that she was pregnant. She thought it was adorable, if not a little unnecessary. But they were her boys and she loved them. "And because I'm curious to see where he's taking me tomorrow."

"Just—"

"Don't worry, dad," she laughed. "I'll 'be careful'. But I assure you, when his ass is on the line Malfoy will do anything to keep himself in one piece. Which means I'll be just fine."

"Did you hear what happened with Ron and Luna?"

Hermione shook her head no. "Like I said, I've been gone all day." Harry hadn't known what to think when she told him about her surprise for Farsiris. Other than what everyone else thought about her affection for the small Malfoy: that she was treading on dangerous ground, whether the girl herself was commendable or not. But she'd conveniently left out the fact that she was now Farsiris's godmother, which Draco had made official at the museum when Farsiris was off exploring (though still in their sights). He'd brought a binding magic document for her to sign, having planned on asking her for some time now. If Harry knew that, he definitely wouldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"He proposed to her."

Hermione choked on her own spit and her mind went blank.

"What!"

* * *

Haha, nice cliffy, huh? You hate me, I know. Haha. But there you have it. I think the story is coming along quite nicely. Not too fast, not too slow. But that's just my opinion. What really matters is what all of you think.

**REVIEW!**


	10. Trust

Recap:

"He proposed to her."

Hermione choked on her own spit and her mind went blank.

"What!"

* * *

Chapter 10: Trust

_Her ink-black eyes shown cold and distant for a moment as he reached across the gilded wooden dining room table, sliding her a slender ivory-colored box. She hesitated, biting her lip, then reached for the box, her fingers trembling._

_"What is it?" she asked, her eyes falling._

_"Just open it," he replied, monotone, usual._

_She fingered the case, reveling in how smooth and expensive-looking it was. Of course she knew how much money her husband had, how much money her family had, but things of this nature still gave her goose bumps. Even after living her whole life with money, her breath still caught when someone spent a big chunk of money for seemingly no reason at all._

_Bringing the box close, she lifted the lid, her eyes widening as the piece inside came into focus. It was a gorgeous silver bracelet, plated, and set with a shimmering emerald. She'd never seen anything so beautiful; never expected anything like this from him._

_"It's…Draco, it's gorgeous."_

_He smiled (however awkwardly), and leaned in. "You're gorgeous, Kanika" he said, then kissed her as if it were the first time._

_Six hours later and she would be dead._

* * *

Draco tapped his foot impatiently on the marbled floor. It was 12:13, and she was thirteen minutes late for lunch. If he was smart he would have gone back home and forgotten the whole thing, but Malfoys never backed down and so he stayed, the seconds and minutes ticking by as he stared at his watch with irritation.

Then, finally, at 12:24 she came, blushing, through the door and entered the lobby. She eyes scanned the nearly vacant room, then settled on him, a curious and remote look in her eyes.

"You're late," he scoffed, his chin high.

"I know," she sighed. "I…It's complicated."

"I'm sure." He shrugged and took her hand.

"What—"

"We need to Apparate where we're going."

* * *

The only time Hermione had ever been outside of Europe her entire life was months back when she'd visited Kanika's sister in Egypt. This was the second time, and she couldn't believe that both times it was because of Draco Malfoy. On their way they'd had to stop at border Apparation Stations, though each time Draco would somehow manage to keep her from knowing where they were going until the second they were finally there. It seems like it would take forever, having to stop at a different Apparation Station for each country crossed, but in actuality it's only a few seconds.

"Are we in—"

"Japan, yes."

"But…I mean…Why?" She turned to face Draco, looking much the way he and Farsiris had yesterday at the museum. She'd always been interested in Asian culture, particularly Japanese, with specific emphasis on the wizarding world there. Over the course of many years she'd read several books, but she felt nothing compared to seeing it in person, the way she'd seen in most every other country throughout Europe.

"My work with the Ministry brings me here a lot," he said as if that answered everything. "There are a few places I've become accustomed with." And without saying another word, without giving anymore explanation, he began to walk through the crowded streets of a Japanese city Hermione didn't even know the name of.

"Where—"

"Kyoto," he said simply, sharply. "Now hurry. I know how eager you are to get back to your oh-so exciting job."

Hermione stopped mid-stride and Draco rolled his eyes, anticipating her backlash any second. But there was none. Instead, she just looked at him with an oddly serene expression on her face.

"What?"

"I took the rest of the day off."

He almost started, but held his shock at bay, then gave a curt nod. There was no sense in making a big deal out of nothing, because it meant nothing to him that she would take the day off to spend with him. Granted, it was strange, but his world was full of the strange and mysterious. He would never in life understand muggle-borns, women, or those who had been born inherently good; i.e. Hermione. He especially would never comprehend natural goodness. He didn't see why some people were born good while others, like his family, were not. Because that was how he saw it; he was born evil, therefore could not have prevented or been fully responsible for his previous oppressive actions. He reasoned, however, that almost no one would agree with him.

"Very well," was all he said, and continued on ahead. Hermione knew he had wanted to say more, to ask why she chose to take off work to spend time with him, but his Malfoy-manner simply made such a thing void. But she really would have nothing to say had he asked anything so simple as why. She'd taken the day off to be one on one with Draco, to try to get inside his head, instead of looking at his memories all the time. She knew that Draco himself, not his past, was key to gaining the information the Ministry needed. It would be difficult, near impossible, but, with enough time, she was sure she could get _something_ useful. "Are you familiar with the etiquette of a teahouse?"

The gears in Hermione's brain jerked to a halt.

"You're taking me to see geisha?"

"You say it as those they're not reputable company."

"I'm not naïve, Draco. Unlike most people, I know geisha are not prostitutes. Forgive me," she spat, "for getting excited at the prospect of meeting people I admire."

"I never thought of you as being interested in artists. With your nose always buried in ink and parchment, I—"

This was when he noticed she wasn't listening to a word he said, for at that moment a powder soft angel floated by them, aquamarine and snow white silk clinging to her tiny Asian body. Her perfect black hair was piled atop of her head in giant exaggerated curls that was stuck with a comb the color of plums and studded with pearls.

"She's amazing," Hermione breathed, and actually took a step forward as if she were going to pursue the geisha who was at least a head shorter than her.

"Her name's Nariko," Draco said, coming up along side her. "This is your only warning about her, Granger. She does not take well to others, and especially not women, unless they are geisha."

"Are we going to see her this afternoon?"

"The teahouse we're going to is one she visits nearly every day. She hates it because it allows non-geisha women."

"Then why does she bother going there?"

"We should keep moving. We're expected at a certain time."

Hermione didn't move.

"Granger," he groaned.

"It's because of you, isn't it? That's why this Nariko goes where we're going, to see you."

"Keep your nose in books where it belongs," he hissed, his clawed fingers snatching her wrist.

"Is she a witch?"

"Stop asking questions."

"I will when I get some answers."

"No," he sighed.

"Brilliant."

Draco did _not_ like the look of the smile that suddenly graced her lips.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said with a shrug.

"Granger."

"Only that she won't know I've cast a tranquility charm on her."

Draco rolled his eyes and they continued on. He was surely going to regret today.

* * *

_"Hermione?"_

_She blinked. Twice. Her chocolate eyes blurred, then refocused and before her she saw Harry Potter, his sharp green eyes mirroring concern and love._

_Her mind, her heart, her soul, her sense of reason simply could not grasp it. Why would Ron ask Luna to marry him? True, she did want them to be together, did want what was best for them both, but she was pregnant with his child for Merlin's sake! Couldn't he have waited until after the baby was born? Until after Luna was fully back in their circle?_

_But then that's what it was, wasn't it? She was bitter because Luna wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't look at her. Hell, she didn't even talk about her; she knew, she'd asked. And if Luna wasn't going to talk to her (even if it was Hermione's fault) then she didn't want her around her baby. She knew it was dumb, childish, and definitely un-Hermione-like, but she just couldn't help it; with her pregnancy came this suffocating need for protection, both for herself and her child._

_"What…did she say?" She absolutely _had_ to know._

_"She said she needed time to think about it."_

_"But she didn't say no?"_

_Harry's expression faltered._

_"You can stop thinking whatever it is you're thinking, Harry Potter. I do not still love Ron, not that way. I'm just…concerned. Why would he make such a drastic decision when everything is so muddled up?" At least she'd told half the truth._

_"Are you going to talk to him?"_

_"Of course! How could I not? You and him are my best friends, Harry. If I said nothing I could no longer call myself a friend. Besides, we're having a baby together." Her last statement had been almost a side note, but Harry knew what she meant. Harry usually knew what she meant with regards to Ron. "What about Neville?"_

_"What about him?"_

_"Does he know?"  
_

_"No one knows yet."_

_"He's going to be heartbroken."_

_"He'll be fine, 'Mione. It's you we're all worried about."  
_

_"Me?"_

_"Yes you," he laughed. "Don't act like you don't know. You're pregnant and spending a lot of time at Malfoy's house. How could we call ourselves friends if we weren't concerned?"_

_Hermione wrinkled her nose at his last question, an obvious friendly jab at her._

_"I can take care of myself, you know."  
_

_"And so can Neville."_

* * *

The teahouse was quiet and humble, the way Hermione had always pictured them, seen them in books. Few patrons were there, and only two geisha were there for entertainment. Being several hours ahead of their time in England, it was evening in Kyoto, though soon she figured more guests would arrive and then she would have a true experience of a teahouse.

"Draco-sama," the mistress of the teahouse greeted him with a bow.

"Kata-san," he replied and bowed as well, then turned to Hermione and presented her, though Hermione herself could not understand a word; he was speaking entirely in_ Japanese_.

"Draco?" she whispered, nudging him in the side. "Why didn't you tell me you knew Japanese?"

"I assumed you figured it out for yourself, Granger," he sighed. "I did tell you I spent a lot of time here."

"Yes, but—"

Kata, the mistress, said something quickly to Draco, then disappeared behind a screen door.

"The men here are going to try to touch you whether you're geisha or not," Draco explained as they approached the table in stocking feet; she was phenomenally grateful for having dressed up to have lunch. "Therefore," he sighed in agitation, reaching into his pocket, "while we're here, we're married."

Hermione made a sound in protest, but slipped the simple silver band on her ring finger nonetheless. Draco had already put his on, though she didn't remember seeing it until just now.

As they sat on the floor beside a round red-faced man, his arm slung over the shoulder of a modest geisha who poured him more sake, Draco grasped Hermione small hand, making sure the man on their other side—tall, skinny, and eyeing Hermione like a rabid dog—saw clearly. The man curled his nose, but made no attempt to calm his libido. Hermione simply ignored the man, but Draco couldn't seem to keep his anger in check. After all, he was a Malfoy and respect was key in his world. But of course it had a lot to do with ego as well.

He said something sharp to the man, then turned to Hermione. The man hissed back at him and, to Hermione's horror, Draco placed his hand gently on her cheek (she could feel the slightest sensation of a tremble in his touch) and kissed her lips. She was too stunned to move, to prevent it, and afterward it took everything in her power to scream at him for an explanation.

"He didn't believe we were married," Draco said in English, and so Hermione assumed the man only spoken Japanese. "I didn't have a ring on last week."

"Warning would have been nice," she scoffed, but then caught the man's eyes and giggled, kissing Draco on the cheek, the nails of her hand under the table digging crescents into his leg.

He ignored this and instead addressed the large man on the other side of Hermione, who also had not stopped staring at her since they arrived. Though Draco didn't give him a second thought and rushed into a hurried conversation. If Hermione hadn't been paying attention she might have missed the subtle way Draco snaked him arm around her back, only his hand never touched her. She didn't turn her head, barely moved her eyes, but she still caught it—the deep green velvet of a sack full of coins in the other man's palm. He slipped it carefully into his pocket, then took a sip of sake, the geisha at his side having his undivided attention.

"Draco," Hermione whispered, again her fingernails cutting into his skin. He showed no sign that he felt pain, asked the nearest geisha for more sake, then turned to Hermione.

"What?"

"What the _hell_ are you paying that man for? If you think I am going to let you—"

The room dropped into silence. Hermione caught herself, hand to her lips, and watched as the celebrated Nariko stole everyone's attention by simply coming into the room. She sat down directly across from Draco, her eyes never leaving him for an instant.

"Draco-san," Nariko said, her voice dripping with honey. If at all possible, she looked fresher, lovelier, than before. Hermione felt small and ugly in her ordinary clothes, her mass of curls tied behind her head with no real thought. But this woman—she was all about appearance.

"Nariko," he said back, and though Hermione was at his side, she knew his eyes were not on the geisha before him. And then he whispered something in Japanese and grabbed Hermione by the hand.

"Wh—"

"Well I won't have you thinking what you're obviously thinking," he said under his breath. "Now hurry."

"If you bought something illegal from that man," she hissed, "we won't be able to get back through the Apparation Stations."

They came to a halt just outside the teahouse, on a side porch decorated with beige paper lanterns and small potted plants that were not yet flowering. He pushed her none-too-gently onto one of the benches, not taking a seat himself. He said nothing for a moment, then reached into his pocket and produced a small sheet of parchment with a picture on it and handed it to Hermione.

"What—"

"That," he said, pointing to the paper, "is why we're here."

It was a drawing of an ornate Japanese box, painted with black lacquer and real gold accents. The top was inlaid with a simple and beautiful rose made from garnet and mother of pearl. It was breath-taking.

"Is it—"

"Magic? Of course. A girl her age is old enough to have secrets. That box will keep any prying eyes—including mine—out of her personal business."

"Draco," Hermione whispered, lowering her eyes and hanging the paper back to him.

"Next time don't jump to wild conclusions before you know what's going on, Granger. I know the Ministry doesn't trust me, and hell would be frozen over before Potter or Weasley believe I was on their side. But you," he sighed, shaking his head. "I thought after this long I'd earned your trust." His words were so hard, so biting, that it actually caused her eyes to well up with apologetic tears. None escaped, thank Merlin, and her face was hidden by a heavy shadow to shield her from his gaze. She reasoned with herself that it was only hormones, that she didn't care if he was hurt by her lack of trust. But then she was lying, wasn't she?

* * *

"You _have_ earned my trust Draco," Hermione said, walking side by side with him through the most gorgeous garden she'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. Through it ran a small brook, crossed with little wooden bridges and dotted with stepping-stones. The grass was a gorgeous, if not unnatural, green and the trees were somehow in full bloom in the middle of winter, though the explanation was simple: they were now in Southern Japan. "Forgive me for making you believe otherwise. I know you would never do a thing to jeopardize your life with Farsiris. I would never have agreed to be her godmother unless I trusted you, you must believe me."

"Must?" he laughed, plucking a large pink flower from one of the low branches of the tree they'd stopped under. They were practically the only people there, other than a few scattered voyeurs like them, and a single geisha. Hermione had yet to notice that she was Nariko, otherwise she surely would not be this civil with him. "How can you stand there and say you trust me when all this time you're looking at my personal memories? What do you have to gain, then, if not trust? Tell me, Hermione, because I can't think of another viable explanation."

She bit her lip and for the second time that evening bowed her head in apology. How was it that all of a sudden he had this effect on her? Did he practice making people feel less worthy?

"It's complicated," she tried to reason, but knew it was no use. It occurred to her that she was truly sorry that he didn't believe she trusted him, because somehow she had grown to believe his motives were for good. It scared her to think of Draco this way, after all the years of vile torment, but her motherly instincts simply would not allow her to feel anything short of sorry for him.

Until, that is, she caught sight of a familiar geisha across the grounds.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Hermione blurted out. "How could she have come here so—She's a witch, isn't she!"

Draco flinched at her volume and anger, but said nothing. What was there to say?

"Why didn't you tell me!"

"Would it really have made that much of a difference?"

"Yes, of course it would have! I wouldn't have felt so alone in that teahouse!"

"Did it ever occur to you that the man I'm having make Farsiris' box is a wizard?"

Hermione's lips shut and she glared fire at Draco.

"How fitting," she scoffed. "Us, speaking of trust."

"Tell me why you look in my pensieve and I'll tell you all about Nariko. I'll even start," he ground out, phenomenally furious that they were here having this argument. He could be home with his daughter right now! "She and I met a year after Farsiris was born. We dated, but when the mistress of her okiya—which is full of witches, by the way—found out about us, cursed me, in both senses of the word, and put a charm on all of Nariko's frequented teahouses to keep me away. She does not know that we still see each other."

"And are you dating now?" Hermione couldn't have stopped the question with all the magic in the Wizarding World.

"Not that it's any of your business, but no. She has a donna, also a wizard, who would dual with me at the drop of a hat if he knew she still came to see me."

"I can see why you like her," Hermione replied waspishly. "You're both foul." Before Draco had a chance to respond, Hermione had Apparated away.

It took him a few minutes to find her, at the Apparation Station between France and England, but the second he did, he grabbed her almost violently around the waist from behind and Apparated them both to the Manor.

"_Let go of me_!" she screamed, kicking and biting and clawing at every inch of him. Finally she was able to get free and tore out the front door. He got a hold of her again on the porch, his grip so tight she had no hope of getting away this time.

"Tell me!" he barked, his face inches from her. "Why are you prying! If not for trust, then why!"

"Why do you care?" she spat, wrenching her arm in vein. "What does it matter!"

"It matters a great deal! You come into my home and look at my memories! _Mine_! There must be—" His hands suddenly fell away and he stood, stunned, his face blank as he made a profound connection in his head. "The Ministry," he whispered. "That's what they have you doing here, isn't it? You're spying on me!"

"Draco—"

"Draco? You're a sorry excuse for a witch," he hissed, grabbing her sharply by the throat. "Not only do you pry into my personal business, but you do it for _money_." She thought for sure he was going to hit her—and she was too stunned to try and get away. Instead he surprised her completely by yanking her forward for a rough, forceful kiss. Her lips burned when he pulled back, and she remained speechless. "You're nothing but a whore, and a bad one at that." He shoved her back and if she hadn't been anticipating it she would have fallen down the steps. "Get off my property. I never want you here again, for _any_ reason."

The door slammed shut before she saw him leave, before she felt any emotion. And then, without warning, she burst into tears and ran from the Manor. Not Apparated, but ran, crying like the weak witch she'd become.

* * *

As I have told you, my readers, a hundred times, I get very busy at school and I am unable to write for long periods of time. Please forgive me for this delay, but I am finally home and able to write as much as I want. I could have had this chapter done a few days ago, but I wanted to make it extra long as an apology for my absence. I will try to be more swift in my updates from now on. And for those of you who are reading _Time_ as well, I am working on that story too, only it seems to be giving me a little trouble. If there's anyone out there who would like to be my beta reader for that particular story then please contact me.

REVIEW! Please:)


	11. When The Bough Breaks

Recap:

"Draco? You're a sorry excuse for a witch," he hissed, grabbing her sharply by the throat. "Not only do you pry into my personal business, but you do it for _money_." She thought for sure he was going to hit her—and she was too stunned to try and get away. Instead he surprised her completely by yanking her forward for a rough, forceful kiss. Her lips burned when he pulled back, and she remained speechless. "You're nothing but a whore, and a bad one at that." He shoved her back and if she hadn't been anticipating it she would have fallen down the steps. "Get off my property. I never want you here again, for _any_ reason."

The door slammed shut before she saw him leave, before she felt any emotion. And then, without warning, she burst into tears and ran from the Manor. Not Apparated, but ran, crying like the weak witch she'd become.

* * *

Chapter 11: When The Bough Breaks

"What happened?" Ron whispered as Harry shut them both out of Hermione's room, where she lay weeping, a piece of parchment clutched in her hand.

"Farsiris sent her a letter," Harry sighed.

"You mean she actually received this one?" For months they had been watching Hermione 'round the clock, ensuring her happiness and stability as best as possible. Farsiris had been writing her since the day after Draco banished her from the Manor.

"I wasn't there to stop the owl."

"It was your turn—"

"I have a job, you know! I have a life!"

Harry took a deep breath and gave his best friend an apologetic look they both knew too well. This was their life now, as trying as it might be. Hermione was their friend, their rock; without her they had nothing. They prayed everyday for peace with the arrival of the baby in a month's time.

"What did it say?"

"Enough that she knows we've been taking her mail." Harry leaned against the door and let out an agonized groan. Only yesterday they had eaten a wonderful dinner at Luna's flat with Ginny. All five of them got along famously, as if no rift had ever occurred. Luna was back to her normal self and she and Ron had been going on dates regularly. Everything had been looking so promising, with Hermione growing steadily, the baby inside her healthy. She was glowing all the time, her round belly and rosy cheeks only adding to her beauty.

Until today.

"This stress isn't good for her or the baby," Ron commented, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I'll curse Malfoy into the afterlife for this."

"You and me both."

Their eyes met and, silently, they agreed to do the only thing they hadn't tried yet to ease their friend's broken soul. They were going to Malfoy Manor.

* * *

All Harry and Ron could do was stare, their voices gone, as the beautiful child they knew to be Farsiris answered the door, her long black hair twisted into two braids and tied with pale yellow ribbons that matched her dress. She was gorgeous and they could not believe she shared half her genes with Draco Malfoy.

"Hello," she said, puffing herself up as if she were a small animal trying to appear larger and fiercer to an enemy.

"Hello dear," Harry said, crouching down to her level. "My name's Harry—"

"Potter?" Her little shoulders eased and her face fought to display the proper emotion. "You know Hermione?" she whispered, settling on sadness.

"Yes, she is a great friend of mine, and she misses you very much."

A flicker past Farsiris' eyes, yet no smile would grace her pursed lips.

"My father," she began, but stopped and said, "Are you here for my father?"

"It would be lovely if you told him we were here."

"Who is he?" Farsiris demanded, sounding too much like Draco, her tiny finger pointed almost accusingly at Ron.

"I'm Ron Weasley."

She made a lift of her eyebrows to show she knew his name, then disappeared without a word.

"Hermione needs to get back here," Ron said under his breath. "That child is certainly not the Farsiris Hermione described to us. She's too young to be so sad."

"That is why we're here, isn't it?"

* * *

"I'd offer you tea," Draco ground out, "but then that's only for _welcome_ guests."

"Drop it, Malfoy," Harry spat. "We're here for Hermione and your daughter. It's not our fault you happen to be the cause of all their pain."

"How dare you insinuated that I would harm my daughter by choice!"

"She's miserable and you know exactly why!"

A heavy silence dropped over them and Harry fought to stay in his chair in the sitting room.

"Granger betrayed my trust. I have no use for her anymore."

"And your daughter?" Ron jumped in.

"What about her?"

"She misses Hermione. _Clearly_ she needs her."

"And just what is that supposed to mean, Weasley? Farsiris was perfectly happy before Hermione decided to pry into our lives."

"Do you want her to end up bitter and angry like you?" Harry asked in all seriousness.

"Do you have any idea how upset Farsiris will be because of your little visit?" Draco countered with another question. "Get out of my house."

Before any of them could rise from their seats, however, their came a frantic knock at the front door. Draco stomped angrily from the room, not wishing his daughter to answer to any one else. Harry and Ron strained to hear who it was, but didn't have to try long. The voice shouting hysterically at Draco belonged to Ginny.

Both boys were in the foyer before they remembered standing, to find Ginny collapsed in tears in Draco's arms. He looked horrified and tried in vein to get her away. Harry obliged, sneering at his former Slytherin schoolmate.

"I've been…looking…everywhere for you," Ginny gasped between sobs.

"What's wrong?" Ron demanded, forgetting to put on his mask of calm.

"It's Hermione…She…She was rushed to St. Mungo's."

Everyone's face—including Draco's—paled of all color. It could only mean one thing.

"Farsiris!" Draco shouted, and not a moment later she was with them too. "Don't you dare try to stop me from coming," he snapped at Harry and the others. "As godmother to my child, I reserve the right to see her."

No one asked questions. They were only concerned with getting to Hermione as fast as possible.

* * *

The lobby of St. Mungo's was eerily quiet, only a few scattered witches and wizards with minor ailments; nothing life-threatening, nothing like what they were here for. Farsiris kept surprisingly quiet for a girl so young and confused, clinging to her father's hand as if it truly did make her feel better.

Ron rushed to the front desk, asking the witch there as calmly as he could what room Hermione Granger, G-r-a-n-g-e-r, was in. The witch smiled sadly and told him she could see no one right now because she was with the healers.

"Healer_s_?" Ron asked, emphasizing the plural.

"I'm afraid so," the witch said solemnly, then returned to the rolls of parchment she'd been looking at before.

For nearly two hours the odd group sat in silence, every now and then jumping to their feet when a door opened or the sound of footsteps advanced upon them. Then, finally, a somber-looking wizard approached them, forcing a professional smile.

"Who is the father?" he asked, scanning the three eligible men. Ron stood and followed the wizard without a word. He was taken to a small room on the opposite side of the hall from the nursery. Hermione lay, fast asleep (and most likely under a spell) in the bed. Their child, a boy, lay in a sterile cradle, protected from the outside world with a shielding spell, for when Ron went to touch him he could go no further than within a foot.

"He's small," Ron commented, his brow furrowed. He didn't know what else to say. "Will he..." His words trailed off. He couldn't possible say what he was thinking.

"Miss Granger wanted me to tell you his name."

Ron's ears perked immediately.

"Arthur Sirius Weasley."

"After my dad," he whispered, his fingers pressed against the barrier between him and his son.

"We cannot be sure how long the child will survive," the wizard said, unable to keep the information to himself any longer. After all, as the father, Ron had a right to know. "Sadly, there is no chance of saving him. We've tried every spell and nothing seems—"

"Can I hold him?" Ron whispered. "Before he…Before he's gone."

"Of course."

"What about Hermione?"

"I can wake her if you'd like. She's very tired, but she would want to be awake I believe."

"Yes," Ron agreed. "She would."

* * *

The funeral was two days later, an unfittingly sunny and clear day. Hermione wore white, the only person to do so—the only person _allowed_ such a privilege. She didn't shed a single tear, saying few words before tossing a single yellow rose onto her son's miniature coffin and walking away alone.

Only one person had the audacity to follow her.

"Hermione!"

"How dare you," she said under her breath. "Of all the—"

He pulled her to a stop over the crest of a small hill, the funeral hidden from view on the other side. Her skin was unbelievably pale and cold, all the former glow from pregnancy completely gone. And yet she still managed to look amazing.

"Come back to the Manor," he said, demanded, unable to bring a calming voice to the surface.

"Of course," she laughed bitterly, startling him. "That will make everything better, won't it? I won't miss my son anymore so long as I'm in _your_ company."

"Hermione—"

"You have no right to use my first name, _Malfoy_. Leave me alone. It's my turn to tell you: I _never_ want to see you again for _any_ reason."

And then he said the worst thing possible.

"So you're denying Farsiris as your goddaughter?"

"You are worth _nothing_ to me," Hermione cried softly, her voice strained and her cheeks wet with burning tears. "I gave you everything you never deserved, and this is how I'm repaid." She wrenched her arm free from Draco's hand. "You have a lot to learn about being a human being, Draco. More than you could possibly understand."

"Then help me," he said through his teeth, taking her by the arms.

"You don't have to grab me every time you want my attention."

He dropped his hands and sighed loudly.

"It's Farsiris, isn't it?"

"What?"

"That's why you're here. That's why you want me back, why you want my help. You're trying to be a good person for your daughter."

Angrily, solemnly, he nodded.

"I will come back—" She silenced him as he tried to interrupt her by placing a finger on his lips. "—on one condition."

He let it slip before he could stop himself: "Anything."

"I want to adopt Farsiris, make her by daughter legally."

"Granger! Have you lost all sense of reason!"

"Perhaps. But that's what I want. I will settle for nothing less. Considering the wealth of good it will do, I can't see a logical reason for you to refuse. After all, it has little to do with our relationship."

"About your son."

"Yes?" She was prepared for anything.

"I'm sorry."

Except that.

* * *

"Hermione we understand this is a stressful time, but—"

"I'm doing this whether I have your approval or not," Hermione snapped at Harry, and all the others who attempted to stop her on her way to the Manor, where she was to meet with Draco and his lawyer about adopting Farsiris. "I want nothing more than to have a child of my own, but _obviously_ that isn't going to happen. I love Farsiris. I want to be her mother."

"But Hermione—"

"What Harry? What?"

"It's Malfoy!" he pleaded.

"All the more reason for me to do it. Harry," she sighed. "I can't profess to want to be a mother if I stand by and watch that little girl become corrupted by her father. Someone has to be there for her, someone trustworthy. She has such great potential. I can't let her life get ruined because of my qualms with her father."

"Qualms?" Ginny asked. "Hermione, they are more than qualms."

"Death Eater, ex-Death Eater. I don't care. Don't you see that? This is bigger than that!"

"If you're doing this just because of Arthur—" But Ron never finished his sentence as a hard blow knocked him off balance and into the nearest wall. Hermione stood, fuming, her knuckles white at her sides.

"How dare you use our son against me, Ron Weasley!"

"Hermione, please. I'm sorry. I just—"

"I know none of you could possibly understand why I have to do this. But I am. I won't let you stop me, for any reason."

"He killed his wife!" Ginny shouted, then clasped her hands over her mouth, horrified at her own words.

"_Excuse me_?"

"His wife," Ginny breathed, phenomenally sorry she'd said a word. "He killed her. I watched him do it, with her back turned…and then he acted as though he'd come to save her."

"You're lying," Hermione gritted through her teeth. "He wouldn't…He _couldn't_ do that to Farsiris. He—"

"Loves her?" Ginny whispered. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I saw what I saw."

"And you never thought to tell me!"

"How could I have?" the youngest Weasley cried, her face red and wet. "I owe him my _life_, Hermione!"

"Well," Hermione sighed, for the time being having no sympathy for her friend, "now I have _two _reasons to adopt Farsiris. I don't want any of you here when I come home."

* * *

Look at me with another chapter all done for you all! Yay! And I really love this one too! Yes, all along I planned to not have the baby live, after all, how could I call this a Draco/Hermione fic if she and Ron had a baby? I know its sad and tragic, but it was intended all this time. Please don't be too mad, its for the greater good of the story.

As always…**REVIEW!**


	12. Almost

Recap:

"And you never thought to tell me!"

"How could I have?" the youngest Weasley cried, her face red and wet. "I owe him my _life_, Hermione!"

"Well," Hermione sighed, for the time being having no sympathy for her friend, "now I have _two _reasons to adopt Farsiris. I don't want any of you here when I come home."

* * *

Chapter 12: Almost 

The instant she saw him she had to restrain herself from giving him a well-deserved slap across the face; for lying to her, for treating her the way he always did, for being who he was and who he'd always been. And because, for some reason unbeknownst to her, Hermione could not seem to get him out of her life.

She'd already decided, before she even left her flat, that bringing up Kanika and what Ginny said was not going to happen tonight. She wanted proof—though she had no logical reason to not believe her friend—before she said a word. That, and, if it was true, she would have great leverage over Draco.

It took her a moment to register the subtle difference in the air, her summer evening cloak hung up and her shoes already set neatly where she always put them.

"The lawyer isn't here," were her words. Not a question. She didn't dare get into question and answer with him tonight. This was the first time they'd consensually seen each other since their pseudo date to Kyoto; the tension made it almost hard to breathe.

"No," he said with a sort of shrug, though it was half-hearted and lacked all Malfoy expression. Something was different about him, a change had occurred in the months of her absence. But she was far too tired—both physically and mentally—to even hazard a guess at what had been going on at the Manor. "Are you…hungry?" Even the simplest question stuck in his throat.

"I came here for one reason, Malfoy. I have other matters to attend to if no papers are to be signed tonight."

"He'll be here in an hour," he said in a would-be reassuring voice. "Eat with us."

"I don't have the stomach to eat with you," Hermione bit harshly, startling even Draco with her malice.

"Do you blame me for what happened to your son?" Draco asked bluntly. They stood a room's length apart, their voices low enough to stay within the confines of the foyer, and yet Hermione's ears rang with the question, a question she had been dreading since the day she was taken to St. Mungo's.

"What's for supper?" She attempted to squeeze past him, towards the kitchen, but his hands always seemed to find her arms. He pulled her back, their bodies so close any movement would press them together.

"Answer my question, Granger. If you believe I have wronged you so terribly then I have a right to know. And why." And though she knew he was, in his own Draco-way, trying to make things right, he said it with such an air of confidence that told her he somehow _knew_ he could never have been at fault.

Without warning—without so much as a frown—she burst into a wail of tears, her fingers clawing at Draco's chest as if beneath the skin lay the answer to all her problems.

"It's…it's my fault," she whispered, collapsing to the floor completely. Draco, entirely unprepared for her behavior, stood stock still, only able to stare at the wreck of a woman at his feet, her still-shapely form hunched over as if she were bowing to him. Any other time and he would have relished in her pain, in the fact that she _should_ be down there, worshipping him. But something in her tone, her conviction, halted all the gears in his brain and the only thing he could register was: she lost a child. _Nothing_, he knew, could match that kind of pain.

Holding in every ounce of pride—and remembering the love she shared with his daughter, soon to be her daughter—Draco knelt down and took Hermione by the shoulders, forcing her gently to look at him.

"How?" he asked, a world of meaning behind such a small word.

She closed her eyes.

"Can we sit in the library?"

* * *

_"Miss Granger?"_

_Hermione stood, beaming, and followed the young healer into a room down the hall. She told her to take a seat, then left the room for a few short minutes. Upon return, she got to work straight away, having Hermione lie down while she swept her wand across her body._

_"When did you first realize you could be pregnant?"_

_"A few days ago."_

_"Have you informed the father?" Hermione guessed that she would have said "husband" had there been a ring on her finger._

_"Yes," she sighed, turning her eyes away slowly. She hated explaining her strange situation to other people, knowing they wouldn't understand._

_"What's wrong?"_

_"It's complicated."_

_"Is it another woman or another man?" the healer laughed, though there was nothing cruel in her tone, only a note of sympathy surrounded by years of experience._

_"That's just it," and again she sighed. "I'm the other woman."_

_The healer nodded that she understood, then continued on with whatever tests she was administering._

_A long silence followed and soon Hermione grew worried. She turned her head just enough to see the other woman's face, the pit in her gut widening into a canyon._

_"What? What's wrong?" she demanded, sitting up so fast their heads nearly collided._

_"Hermione, calm down, please."_

_"Is my baby alright? What's going on?"_

_"Miss Granger."_

_Hermione held her breath._

_"I don't understand how you were able to get pregnant," the healer said slowly. "According to my tests—and I will have another healer come in and double check to make sure—you should never have gotten pregnant."_

_"What's that mean?" She was more appalled than shocked. How dare she tell her that her baby shouldn't exist!_

_"Your body in unable to sustain life," she said sadly. "I'm sorry, but if you attempt to carry this child to term the chances of its survival are less than 10. At best."_

_"And if I try?"_

_"You will most certainly lose the baby…and there's a chance you could die as well."_

_Hermione buried all other emotion—save hope—and took a deep, shaky breath._

_"Thank you," she said, sliding off the examination table._

_"Miss Granger?"_

_"I appreciate your concern, but I want a child too badly to do what I know you're telling me to do."_

_"Then I wish you the best of luck."_

* * *

"You're the only person who knows," Hermione said, twisting the handkerchief Draco had given her. Yet her voice had leveled to a soft, steady hum, hiding the broken-heart-ache that coursed through her entire being. Draco didn't expect any less from the smartest witch to pass through Hogwarts. "I don't need to tell you how much I need this kept a secret. If my friends knew…Well, let's just say they already doubt my sanity." 

He couldn't help it. He cracked a smile.

"What?" she asked sourly.

"They question your sanity because of our situation with Farsiris?"

She nodded. He laughed, sounding almost normal.

"I do too."

"I don't want your pity, Draco."

"I don't want a lot of things I have come to live with," he said, motioning between them as if she needed an explanation. An awkward silence would have followed, had there not been a swift knock at the front door. The lawyer was there.

* * *

"Signing this document ensures you will become the legal mother of Farsiris Mirabelle Malfoy, Miss Granger. I assume that you fully understand what this type of union entails." 

Hermione nodded, taking the quill in a sturdy hand. Beside her stood Draco, his warm strawberry tea scented breath on her neck, sending a strange sensation through her.

With a swish, she signed the contract, then handed the quill back to the lawyer.

"This is most unusual," the lawyer, called Mr. Thomas Baker, said with a wry smile. "I have never dealt with an adoption where the parents are not married."

"Is anything normal when dealing with Malfoy?" Hermione asked, and to her surprise Mr. Baker laughed, a little too freely. And yet Draco made no move to show his displeasure. In fact, she thought she spotted a hint of a smile on his lips as he too signed the document, forever naming her the mother of his pride and joy, his only child. Just like that it was over. With nothing more than two simple signatures Hermione became a mother.

Her knees could have given way beneath her had she not been conscious of her emotional state.

A few moments later Mr. Baker was gone, leaving Farsiris' new parents alone and eternally linked together.

"Farsiris will be awake soon," Draco said, turning to leave his office.

This time it was Hermione who stopped him, taking his elbow and pulling him into a warm embrace. He resisted, as she knew he would, but eased into the affectionate hug all the same.

"Thank you," she whispered, keeping her hormones—her emotions—in check this time.

"Everything I do is for her," he answered, stepping back before things grew too strange between the childhood enemies.

"But still," she sighed, smiling genuinely for the first time in what felt like months. "Thank you. No one wanted me to do this."

"Does it really matter what your friends want?" The question was so simple, and yet it hung between them like a foul smell.

"I suppose it does and it doesn't. But nothing could have stopped me. Not even you."

"Without me there wouldn't have been an adoption," he pointed out.

"Let's pretend for a moment that you can grasp good and evil."

He chose not to respond.

"I'm taking Farsiris out to dinner tomorrow night, Malfoy. I hope you won't make it a problem."

"What choice do I have?" he groaned. "You are her mother now."

* * *

"Is this really happening?" Ginny sighed, throwing down her unappetizing jelly-covered toast. It was seven-thirty in the morning, an hour and a half before either she or Harry had to be at work—neither could sleep the night before, knowing what a terrible jumble Hermione's life had become. "Hermione _can't_ be the mother of Malfoy's kid, Harry. What the hell is she thinking? She's being completely irrational." 

"Has that ever stopped Hermione before? When she really wants something it's going to be hers. You know that. Remembering the Time-Turner in third year? She worked herself to death for extra classes. If having to see Malfoy more often means she's a mother, well…" He trailed off there and downed the rest of his tea, his third cup that morning. "What I don't understand is why Malfoy would agree to it."

Ginny just shook her hand and went to clean up the dishes. Harry had something else in mind, on the other hand, and took her by the wrist. She half-sighed, half-groaned, then sat back down. She'd been dreading this conversation since they left Hermione's flat the night before.

"I don't think she's in any danger with Malfoy," Ginny said before Harry could even form his next words. "I don't think he's a danger to anyone."

"Why?" He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. "Because he saved you?"

"Would you have preferred he didn't?" she bit, yanking her arm away. "I know you're bitter that I never told you what I saw during the war, Harry, but I have my reasons. I don't expect you to tell me everything, and I damn well am not telling you everything. I have a right to my secrets, just the same as you."

"My secrets—if I had any," he added harshly, "—don't put my friends in jeopardy."

"Neither do mine!"

"Malfoy murdered his wife, Ginny! _Murdered_. How is that not putting her in jeopardy?"

"I don't know how I know, I just do. How could you possibly think I would let Hermione near him if I thought he'd hurt her?" Ginny tore her fingers through her hair, as if she meant to rip it all out. "Besides, why would she agree to be close to him unless she trusted him? She heard what I said just as well as you did," she sighed. "I know she's upset about her son, Harry, but I don't think she's that irrational that she'd put herself at risk. Like you said, she's still Hermione, and Hermione is, above all, a genius."

Harry eased back in his chair and sighed loudly. Ginny bit her lip nervously, having not seen her fiancé this torn up since the war. Either he truly believed Malfoy would cause her harm—which she really didn't understand, because it had been Harry who was the most welcoming (though it could hardly be called welcoming) when he switched sides after what he'd seen the night Dumbledore died—or he didn't trust Hermione. And though it hurt her to think it, Ginny wondered just how much she could trust her friend, too.

* * *

"Well come on," Hermione laughed, giving a warm smile to Harry, who stood beside her. Moments later the door in front of them squeaked open and out came Farsiris, her long black locks pulled back with a silky lavender ribbon, her new dress, the same blushing shade of purple, making her seem like a tiny porcelain doll. She smiled hesitantly up at her mother, then looked back at the floor. "What is it?" She gave a masked nervous glance at Harry. "I thought you loved purple." 

"I do," Farsiris assured her. "But daddy…" She let her words trail off.

"What about him?" This time it was Harry, who kneeled before her, who asked. He tipped her head up under her chin and made a funny face, causing her to burst into a fit of girlish giggles. Hermione sighed with relief and thanked him with a brush of her hand against his cheek.

"Daddy didn't like it at all when mommy bought me a present before," Farsiris said finally. "He said I had enough things."

"Is that all?" Harry lifted her off the floor and twirled her around several times. "Let me tell you something about your dad," he said, setting her back down, that charming smile that had won him over long ago gracing her small features. "He can be a real troll sometimes. Do you know what a troll is?"

"It's incorrigible."

It was Harry's turn to laugh.

"Where did you learn a word like that?"

She pointed a finger at Hermione, who looked surprised for an instant, then cracked a smile.

"Well," Harry said. "Your mother is absolutely correct. Now go on. Get your coat and shoes or we'll be late."

Farsiris disappeared into her room—which Draco had been furious about, seeing no reason for her to have a room outside the Manor—leaving Harry and Hermione in the living room of her flat to wait for her. It had been months since Hermione signed the adoption papers, and over that time Harry had come to love Farsiris, much the way he figured it had occurred for Hermione. But that didn't mean he didn't still worry about her safety, Hermione's that is. He had, at Ginny's request, not spoken of that night—that seemed so long in the past—when she'd left in anger, when Draco had been named a murderer.

Hermione sighed and touched Harry's arm to get his attention.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Of course she knew her friends still thought Draco might harm her, though she tried not to think on it. And most of the time it worked, for she was in Farsiris' company—she had a daughter of her own and that was worth anything Draco could do to her, she reasoned.

"I'm great," Harry said. "What time did you want Farsiris at the Manor?"

"I…Seven would be fine."

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Draco groaned, fixing his tie in the hall mirror as they waited for Harry—much to Draco's displeasure—to bring her back to the Manor. Dinner with her parents (who were hardly in the same room for more than ten minutes) was a surprise, just as the trip into Hogsmeade with "Uncle" Harry had been. It had been a long, hard struggle for Hermione to have Draco agree to let Harry be part of their daughter's life, but once she pointed out Draco's debt to him—that being Harry's decision to allow Draco into the Order (and its headquarters) once he was on their side—he could hardly say no, though he tried. 

"It's for our daughter," she laughed, still unaccustomed to being a mother. It made her heart sink every time she thought of it, however, because if it hadn't been for Arthur's death then Farsiris would still be motherless. She hid her unhealable pain with expertise, as she always did, and added, "You would have agreed to anything, Draco."

He only grunted in response, finally finishing his tie.

"Uh! Can you get this?" Hermione asked impatiently, walking over and thrusting a necklace into Draco's hand angrily. Already frustrated himself, he obliged without a word; his head was throbbing, he didn't need another reason to be angry. "Did you get it?" she asked when he didn't step back, and turned around, coming face to face with him. Her breath caught and his anger halted momentarily as their eyes met.

Neither heard the necklace drop to the floor.

The whispers, the what if's, the tension—it had all been brewing from their time together. And today, of all days, it was making itself known.

Slowly, Draco placed his hands behind Hermione's ears. His fingers were rough and pressed into her skin, trembling much the way he had at the teahouse in Japan, only this time everything was profoundly different. He wasn't touching her out of necessity—or anger, as it had been later that same day—but because he actually wanted to, which scared her most of all. He held her eyes, as if had he looked anywhere else she would be less real, sending an unavoidable shiver through her.

He leaned in. Their lips were nearly touching.

"Fuck!" Draco swore, jumping back and holding his cheek where she'd just slapped him hard across the face. "You could have just said no!"

"I know what you did," she hissed, taking a few careful steps back.

"When?" he snapped, still holding his throbbing cheek. It burned not only from pain, but somehow from anger as well, for Draco had truly been about to kiss her, and for the life of him he could not understand why.

"During the war. I know you killed your wife!"

His face paled.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"And how much of a lie would you like?" he sneered, his hand falling to his side. He sighed deeply, painfully. "I never had a wife? I don't know what war you mean?"

She moved too fast for him to react, shoving him into the mirror he'd just been using, and shattering it to pieces. He winced, closing his eyes to avoid further injury. And when he opened them again he found hers on fire and boring deep into him.

"It is just like you to be like that! Nothing that happens will ever change you, Draco Malfoy! Nothing!"

"Well I can hardly be responsible for being myself, Hermione!" he bit back, attempting to push heraway, though with noticeably less force than he'd ever usedon her in the past. She dropped her arms and turned away from him.

"Why did you do it?" she whispered at first, then rounded on him again, her wand stuck deep in his throat. "Why! She was Farsiris' mother!"

"And now you are," he pointed out, almost calmly, his eyes never leaving her.

"How comforting," she scoffed.

"I didn't mean—"

"I don't give a damn what you meant. Tell me. Why did you kill her?" Her teeth were clenched so hard she feared they would shatter as the mirror had.

"When is Potter bringing my daughter back?"

"A few hours." It took all of her strength to keep her voice at its normal tone and volume. "Why?"

"I need all the time I can get," he answered with an unavoidable hiss. "It…" He sighed and leaned his head back against the space where his mirror had once been. "It's a long story."

"I've waited long enough to hear it," was her reply. "Just tell me."

"How long—"

"It's hardly any concern of _yours_, but I've known for months now."

"Why—"

Hermione pressed her wand—held tightly between steady fingers—even harder into his flesh. "Don't make me tell you again."

"Alright," he said after a long pause, placing his hands as gently and cautiously as he could on her shoulders. But he didn't need to push her back, because the instant he touched her she flew back and stood, waiting, on the opposite side of the hall.

"Well?"

He motioned towards the library—the irony not lost on either of them, being the place where Hermione spilled her heart over her son—and, with a roll of her eyes, Hermione agreed and followed him down the hall, her wand on him the entire way.

"I can't _believe_ you tried to kiss me," she ground through her teeth as they reached their destination.

"That makes two of us."

* * *

This chapter could have gone so many different ways, but then I came up with this ending at the last minute. It was originally going to be much later, but I think it fits well here. Let me know what you think! **REVIEW**


	13. Redemption and Relapse

Recap:

He motioned towards the library—the irony not lost on either of them, being the place where Hermione slipped her heart over her son—and, with a roll of her eyes, Hermione agreed and followed him down the hall, her wand on him the entire way.

"I can't _believe_ you tried to kiss me," she ground through her teeth as they reached their destination.

"That makes two of us."

* * *

Chapter 13: Redemption and Relapse

"I doubt you'll believe a word I say," Draco sighed, not bothering to sit in his usual over-stuffed chair.

"Verti—"

"I'm not taking any potion," he cut her off roughly, deepening her already dangerous glare. "In any case, I have none in my store. I can, however, offer you something better." Anything, he thought, was better than having to tell his story.

She crossed her arms rigidly over her chest, unintentionally giving Draco a generous view of her breasts, pressed up and together in her semi-low-cut midnight blue evening dress.

"My pensieve," he said, as if it were completely obvious. Hermione's form stiffened and she shook her head. No. She wasn't going to go through _that_ again. "I took the damn spell off, Granger. All you will do is witness my memory. I swear to you."

"I don't—"

"Do you want to know what happened or not?"

She released her arms—Draco was phenomenally relieved—and motioned out the door.

"After you," she sneered.

"You can pretend all you want, Hermione," he laughed, somehow finding humor in their situation. "But I know what really has you steamed."

"And just what do you think you know?"

"Clearly this information about my late wife is nothing new to you, and therefore cannot be the reason you have your wand in my back." He reached his arm behind and touched the smooth wood, pushing it gently down and turning around slowly at the same time. They had reached the room with the pensieve, and yet neither made a move to enter. "You're angry," he whispered, taking a bold step forward, his face close enough to feel her jagged breaths, "because you _wanted_ me to kiss you."

He winced, backing away and rubbing his gut where she'd just attempted to impale him with her wand.

"Try it again and see what happens."

He shook his head and proceeded to walk into the room, Hermione on his tail, and stopped before the silvery basin.

"The Ministry and the Order are to know _nothing_ of this, Granger," he warned. "Is that clear?"

"I'll decide that for myself once I see what you have to show me."

His hand lashed out too fast for her to stop him, his fingers tight enough to bruise her wrist.

"I don't care a knut's worth about you," he seethed, yanking her to him. "I could finish you right here and feel _nothing_. Do. Not. Push. Me."

Hermione fought every cell in her body to keep from trembling. There was only one way out of this—only one she could think of anyway. Gradually she lifted her wandless hand, placing his gently, hesitantly, on Draco's cheek, the very same cheek she'd slapped only moments before. Taking a deep, calculated and shallow breath, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, nearly gasping when he released her wrist in exchange for her waist, holding her tight against him. He backed her slowly against the door, which had somehow closed without her knowledge, and drew his hands into her soft, silky curls. He took a breath—a heartbeat—to pull back and look into her eyes, cloudy with unforeseen passion. Crushing his lips back down on hers, he was completely unprepared and barely heard the whisper of a spell escape into his mouth.

Blackness hugged him and, none-too-gently, he tumbled to the floor.

"This better be worth it," Hermione spat, wiping her mouth disgustedly on her arm.

She stepped carefully over Draco's unconscious form, praying her spell would last at least until she was out of the pensieve. Since her first time in one, she'd done a lot of research and had discovered a fairly simple way in which to reach the memory one was seeking.

"_Reveloyous Dectus_," she whispered, touching her wand tip into the basin and concentrating all her power on what she sought: Kanika's death. Kanika's death. Kanika's death.

* * *

_Draco Malfoy fumbled, coughing and spitting out dust, as he clamored through the forest, his wand at the ready. His lungs burned and his eyes ached from strain and lack of sleep, and yet he pressed on, determination etched into the hardened features of his face._

_Ducking behind a tree, he spotted his target, her torn gray cloak sweeping behind her as she crept through the underbrush in search of Merlin knew what. She turned round and round, and still caught no sign of him eyeing her like a predator. Her face was covered in dirt and blood and sweat, her body moving with the unmistakenable gait of the wounded. She was close to death—if she didn't receive medical attention soon—and yet she pressed on._

_"Do it," he ground out, clenching both his teeth and fists. He counted aloud, "One…Two…Three…" then swung around into the open and cried not the Killing Curse, for that would have been redundant, but another he had been practicing for weeks now._

_Her body halted mid-stride then, without preamble; fell face-first to the forest floor. He sighed with relief, for his mission was finally over. He turned, ready to leave her, his past, when a short, stunted gasp escaped her lips. Wheezing, she was just barely able to turn herself over, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of death._

_Not knowing what do to, and fearing his discovery, he snapped his wand in half, blood pounding painfully in his ears. What had he done? He hadn't administered the spell correctly and now…now she was in unspeakable pain, her fingernails dug deep in the soil beneath her in a sad attempt to ease her suffering._

_Caving to cowardice, he crouched behind his tree and covered his ears. Her moans broke through, however, and tore at his soul. It was unbearable and it was all his fault!_

_Giving himself no time to think—no chance to back down—he stepped into the clearing and advanced on her._

_"Draco!" she screamed, scrambling towards him. But a powerful spell caught her, and she crashed to the hard ground, moaning loudly._

_He looked up, horrorstruck, and saw a Death Eater with an even lower rank than himself standing in the distance. He sneered, barring his teeth, then disappeared into the trees. Voldemort would surely hear of his failure and then—he didn't even want to think what would happen._

_"I'm coming!" he called. He ran, his legs weak and trembling, his soul burning with regret._

_Smoke curled and suffocated them. Witches and wizards a like screamed and cursed and fell to the ground all around the clearing. It was the end of the world and all Draco wanted to do was make sure she was ok, that she was still alive and had a chance. There had to be time to right his wrong, to save her, and then they could leave together and be safe._

She can't die!_ he thought selfishly. _We have a baby! She can't leave me!

_"Draco," she whispered as he grabbed her hand, pulling her against him. But she could barely breathe._

_"Don't talk," he commanded, his eyes scanning her body. Was she seriously hurt? He couldn't tell. And, without his wand, he was helpless to heal her. Why did he break it? What good did he think would come from this! "Come on." He lifted her thin body easily off the ground, cradling her in his arms. She wheezed and groaned, but made no attempt to speak. They reached another clearing, the smoke slight and harmless. He set her gently on the dry ground. "Do you hurt?"_

_"Take care of her," she whispered, smiling up at him. "Don't let them have her."_

_"You're not going to die," he snapped. But he was not angry. Not in the least. He was more terrified than he'd even been in his entire life. How was he supposed to raise their daughter without her? He didn't know the first thing about kids! Let alone babies! "I'm bringing you—"_

_"Draco, listen to me." Her voice was harder, but not by much. She had never been an exceedingly powerful witch. "I won't make it as far as you have to take me. Your wand is broken and mine is lost." He hadn't the slightest idea how she knew about his wand and, right now, he wasn't about to ask._

_"Damn it!" he hissed. He wanted to call for help, to yell for someone to come to their aid. But there was no one out there, lurking in the forest, that could or would help them. They were enemies to both sides, renegades. And she was dying._

_"Kiss me," she said, her large brown eyes fluttering_

_He leaned in and captured her lips, feeling her wet salt tears press into his skin. He knew she wasn't crying because she was afraid to die, but because she knew what she would miss out on. Their daughter was an infant, and she would never see her first steps, or hear her first word, or witness the first time she used magic._

_"Love her the way you could never love me." And there was nothing insulting in her words._

_"I will," he said, and right then and there his life changed forever. "I promise."_

_She smiled and closed her eyes._

_Draco stared, his eyes unseeing for a moment, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His wife, the mother of his child, lay dead in his arms. It was his doing and yet, somehow, he still could not grasp reality. He _needed_ her. How could this be it? How could he have done such a thing without weighing all the possibilities?_

_Slowly, he slid back and allowed her lifeless form to lay unsupported on the ground. With shaky hands he reached forward and took her arm, unclasping and pocketing a silver and emerald bracelet._

_"Forgive me," he whispered, his tears finally pooling into his cupped hands. "Forgive me," and he prayed to Whoever that she knew just how sorry he was._

Hermione watched, her entire body trembling, and wanting nothing more than to be rid of this memory. It had shown her nothing, she knew, of what Draco wanted her to see. Heaving, she doubled over, yet no vomit came and the pensieve began to swirl and stretch. She braced herself for her return to the real world, but, apparently, the pensieve had other plans.

_Piercing red eyes shown through the hazy darkness, a fire made of cooling embers outlining only the contours of the figure's face and form. Heavy trees, miles thick, surrounded the small clearing. Another figure, also cloaked in black, stood on the opposite side of the fire._

_"Remove your hood," the larger commanded, obviously Voldemort, whose hood remained up._

_Slowly the smaller person pulled down his hood, revealing would-be sleek white-blond hair, matted and streaked with mud and blood—the irony would have been funny had the situation permitted such a luxury. Draco raised his head and looked directly into the eyes of his Lord, the slight shudder in his bones not lost on either of them._

_"Immediate death is the punishment for treachery," Voldemort hissed in his snake-like voice._

_Draco made no move that he either cared or was afraid._

_"For your sedition, however," and at this he gave something close to a laugh, "your penalty shall be far more severe."_

_"More severe than death, My Lord?" Draco dared to ask._

_"Bring to me that child you adore so much so that she is worth your betrayal."_

_Draco made a move in protest, but was immediately struck with a binding spell and held stiffly in place._

_"You will either kill your daughter at my feet," Voldemort explained, "or take the life of her mother."_

_"And myself?" Every muscle burned as he spoke, the strength of the binding spell cutting quite literally into his flesh._

_"You shall live." With a flick of his wand Draco was released and fall harshly to the ground. "For now."_

* * *

Her back crunched against what she assumed was a wall the instant she was returned to reality. Draco's fiery silver eyes bore into her, his breathing ragged, his grip dangerously tight on her upper arms.

"That was a dirty fucking move, Granger!" he yelled, a spray of saliva hitting her in the face. "Whore! How _dare_ you use magic against me!"

"I thought you wanted to play 'mommy and daddy'," she raged back, completely forgetting his memory and the pensieve and how sorry and torn up it made her feel. "You got yours," she pointed out, "and I got mine. So drop it."

"Give me your wand," he demanded.

"No."

He squeezed her arms so hard that unintentionally her wand dropped to the floor. Without care at breaking it, Draco kicked the wand away and pushed even harder against her.

"Now," he said, calming his voice. He even had the audacity to smile. "Kiss me."

"Fuck you," she said through her teeth.

"Clean up your mind, Hermione," and his voice sounded almost like the purr of a contented cat. "I only want a kiss. Who knows what will become of it."

"I," she breathed. "I…trusted you."

"Never trust a Malfoy," he laughed, his forehead against hers. "Now, about that kiss?"

"When you earn a kiss, you'll get a kiss."

"Tell me honestly that you weren't ready to kiss me in the foyer, and I'll leave you alone."

"Why? You hate me."

"There's a thin line between hate and attraction, Granger. Just because I hate you," he breathed, brushing the backside of his fingers against her cheek, "doesn't mean I don't want to fuck your pretty little wits loose. I think it would do the both of us some good."

His hand found the flesh behind her ear, just as it had before, and with the tenderest of care he pulled her towards him, giving her plenty of time and room to get free. Their lips touched just barely and she took in a sharp breath.

"I. Hate. You," she whispered, just before grabbing him roughly and succumbing to all that was wrong and evil. She dragged her nails over his back, as if trying to tear at the clothe of his dress shirt. When he looked into her eyes this time to confirm her consent, they were closed tight, her lips quivering from the absence of his.

"Not as much as you believe you do," he whispered back, plunging his lips onto her neck, his teeth scraping with just the right amount of pressure across her collarbone.

"Fuck you. Don't you dare tell me what I do and do not feel!"

"Oh Hermione," he laughed into her neck. He kissed her almost lovingly on the throat, his lips never leaving their mark as he slowly slipped the straps of her dress down, down until the top hung around her hips, only her lacey black bra between him and the hot, soft flesh he sought. "No wonder Weasley couldn't keep his hands off you." He ran his hands up her bare sides and around to her back; he had almost successfully removed her bra, when reality hit. Hard. And his last comment coursed like poison through her veins.

"S-Stop," she said, pushing at him.

"Grang—"

"I said _stop_, Draco."

He straightened up and took a step back.

With as much grace as she could muster, Hermione pulled up the top of her dress. Draco stopped her halfway through, however, and before she could protest, he finished it for her, even going so far as to make sure she looked presentable, then backed away again.

"I…I _can't_ do this," she said in a low, self-steadied voice. "I can't. Not with you."

"Granger," he groaned, irritated that he had somehow gained enough respect for her to have stopped when she requested. "This has _nothing_ to do with emotion. Lust—"

"I won't be able to look myself in the mirror, Draco. And no amount of 'lust' can change my mind."

"I'm not who I used to be." He was trying a different path, his hormones still pulsing through him. He _had _to have her.

"And if that was enough then there wouldn't be a problem," she sighed. "I've forgiven you for everything you did before and during the war. But that doesn't change the fact that you're still a foul, selfish asshole. You may have chosen the right side, but your personality needs some serious work."

"It's just sex!" he laughed, rolling his eyes. "Come now, Hermione. I know you're not too much of a prude for casual sex."

"You're right," she said, and a smile actually spread across her lips. "Just not with you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off abruptly.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

"What for?" There was no possible way she could be sorry for what had just transpired between them.

"Your wife. You had no choice, and I respect your need for secrecy. But you must understand that _I_ have no choice—I have to tell my friends."

"You will do no such—"

"Who do you think I heard it from? Draco." She made a bold move and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ginny saw what you did and she told us. I have to make them see your intentions were good."

"Whatever," he scoffed, shoving her away. "Do what you will. I don't care."

"Are you…mad because I won't sleep with you?"

"You aren't nearly as smart as you think you are if _that_ is what you believe." He shook his head and turned to go and clean up the mess in the foyer before Farsiris and Harry got back. "Dig deeper, Hermione. Maybe someday you'll figure it out."

* * *

To tell the truth, that was a completely unplanned chapter and it came out of nowhere, but I hope you all like it all the same. I was extremely bored and fueled to write today and so here is the second chapter in one day for your reading pleasure! Enjoy :)

**REVIEW!**


	14. Weights and Measures

Recap:

"Are you…mad because I won't sleep with you?"

"You aren't nearly as smart as you think you are if _that_ is what you believe." He shook his head and turned to go and clean up the mess in the foyer before Farsiris and Harry got back. "Dig deeper, Hermione. Maybe someday you'll figure it out."

* * *

Chapter 14: Weights and Measures

She didn't need to look up to know he was staring at her, and had been throughout the entire dinner. Her attention stayed solely on Farsiris, who couldn't have been happier that both her parents were in the same room. She was a brilliant little girl, knowing full well that her father and new mother did not like each other. She wished every night before bed that, somehow, they could come to love each other and then they could truly be a family. But, for now, she was content with the way things were. After all, she did have a mother now.

After dinner, and cake, and presents, the small, disconnected family moved to the library. Farsiris took her time in choosing her story, wanting the night to last forever. Finally she picked the perfect one—which also happened to be the longest—and they settled on the big sofa near the fireplace, Farsiris between her parents as Hermione read in an even and hypnotic voice until Farsiris' exhaustion from the exciting day overtook her and she drifted off to sleep.

Draco lifted her carefully into his protective arms and carried her to her room. Once he was out of sight and Hermione heard his steps on the staircase, she made for the door. There was no way she was going to stick around after the events of the day. She didn't care how cowardly, how _Slytherin_, it was. She simply could not stand another confrontation with Draco, not tonight, not when her emotions—and regrettably, her hormones—were still boiling. She couldn't deny her physical attraction to Draco. He was a gorgeous man, breathing sexuality in all he said and did. But that didn't change the fact that he was _Draco Malfoy_. He might be on their side, he might have changed for the best, he might be a wonderful father to Farsiris, but he was and always would be a Malfoy.

Her heart sunk noticeably at the thought. He was such a good kisser!

The sound of his heavy footfalls on the steps brought her back from her thoughts. Quickly she grabbed her cloak, her shoes already on, pulled it over her shoulders and slipped out the door.

Draco made it to the bottom of the stairs, catching only a glimpse of her hair and wool cloak. The door clicked shut softly. Sighing to himself, he retired to his office, thankful that she had the sense to leave—he couldn't be sure he was quite that smart to stay away from conflict. But, like her, he didn't want to deal with reality either.

* * *

Hearts pounded and eyes scanned the room, full to capacity with eager Aurors of all ages, ranks, and years of experience. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat close together, surveying the room of their colleagues in silence, their veins pumping hard and strong with child-like excitement. It was the first time in nearly a year that they had all been called together. Something big must have happened. And, being Aurors to the marrow of their bones, they couldn't wait to find out what and set to the task of correcting it.

"May I have everyone's attention?" came Scrimgeour's voice from the head of the room, though he hardly needed to make such a request; all eyes and ears were for him. "It seems your department has had some luck. With months and months of little more than tedious paperwork—" He caught Hermione's eyes for an instant and she fought the urge to frown. "—I know you are all growing restless. But now our very own Ginevra Weasley has made a startling breakthrough."

Gasps and murmurs rose in a cacophony throughout the room. The small back door which Scrimgeour had entered through only moments before opened again and, with caution and grace, Ginny stepped into the room to meet the Minister half way. He shook her hand with vigor, then motioned her towards the podium he had been at, and took a seat with the rest of the Aurors.

Hermione stole a glance at Harry, but his eyes were glued to his fiancée, one hand gripping the back of the chair in front of him as though it were the only thing keeping him alive. Apparently she wasn't the only one Ginny had kept this from.

"I know a lot of you are wondering why someone from _Department of International Magical Co-Operation_ would have anything to do with Aurors. I did not know myself, actually, until early this morning." At this statement, her eyes found Harry's. The look of complete apology and apprehension was not lost on anyone. He nodded solemnly back at her and lowered his eyes. "My job as of late as been negotiating certain laws and regulations with Denmark, Austria, Romania, and Greece. In Greece," she said, kicking her voice up several notches, her confidence rising, "laws are quite different, much looser, which makes my job far more difficult." At this she gave a small, unsure laugh. Everyone else was silent and staring at her as if she were a circus freak show. "Anyway, I came across papers regarding a man named Aric Sophronia. When I looked further into his records, because some of his information was strange upon first glance, I found that his records only went back a few years, the first years being the shadiest. Whole sections were missing, leafs of parchment gone. I consulted with the head of my division and together we discovered that Sophronia was not his birth name. He was arrested within a couple of days—and I had to pull a great deal of strings to do so—and in the hour his Polyjuice Potion wore off to reveal…Keiran Blair."

The room froze as if time had decided to give up.

Hermione looked at Harry, at Ron, at anyone who she could find.

Keiran Blair was a Death Eater. One of Voldemort's closest followers. The Aurors had been looking for him relentlessly since the war ended.

"That is not all," Ginny said over everyone's voices, for no one could keep silent their surprise. "Blair has named two other individuals who he has been in contact with since the end of the war. Bronwen Hurst and…" She paused for a moment and looked to Scrimgeour, who nodded for her to continue. "…and Draco Malfoy."

* * *

The sharp click of her heels on the cold stone floor sent pangs through his already throbbing headache. He lifted his head just enough to see her body, not daring to look at her face, at the face he had regrettably allowed himself to trust. Surprisingly she did not have on her professional robes over her clothing, with consisted of a modest black skirt with a matching fitted blazer, a sea foam green blouse hugging her form under it. Just beneath the sleeve of her jacket a glimmer of silver could be seen.

_"How could you! You can't take her from me! Potter!"_

_Pain. Searing and white._

_Then darkness. Heavy and fatal._

She stopped just before the table he sat at, the thin elegant fingers of one hand curling around the top of the chair back in front of her; from her other hand she dropped a thick packet bound in string on the tabletop.

_Crashing, pounding footsteps. A spell. A curse._

_"Bitch!"_

_Breaking glass. The mirror, ironic and laughable—a mirror cursed to shatter over and over._

The chair suddenly screeched back—causing him to jump against his will—and landed somewhere in the shadows on the opposite side of the room. His thoughts were blurred, jumbled and out of order.

"Look at me, Malfoy." Her voice was cold and thoughtful. She must have spent hours practicing her words. He wondered how long he'd been there, his head still fuzzy from the spell she'd used against him.

"Where's my daughter?" he hissed, his silver-gray eyes cutting her the way no weapon ever could.

"She's with Harry, and she's perfectly fine."

"Yes, I'm sure watching her father being carted away against his will was just what she needed," he snapped, straining his magical binds to press painfully into his skin.

Against her will, Hermione found her brain swelling with a recent and horrifying memory.

_"Miss Granger!"_

_Hermione came to an abrupt stop but did not turn around for the Minister. She had fled the Auror meeting the second it was concluded, not waiting for any of her friends. She couldn't bear to be around them, couldn't bear the questions they were bound to assault her with. And, above all, she could not stand herself, for not two days ago she had willingly _kissed_ Draco Malfoy._

_An invisible hand wrenched at her insides, a sensation she knew far too well. If she didn't gain control of the situation, she would be sick all over the floor._

_"Miss Granger, where are you off to in such a hurry?"_

_Rufus Scrimgeour hurried around in front of her, unable to catch her eyes that searched to find anything but his._

_"Hermione."_

_She looked up and sighed, motioning for him to continue. Speech at this point was irrelevant._

_"You are to meet Harry Potter in the next sixty seconds just outside Malfoy Manor."_

_"_I _have to make the arrest!" she balked, her composure falling away like an extra skin. "What about Bronwen Hurst? Who will—"_

_"We have others at her home as we speak. Miss Granger—"_

_"I can't do this Minister. Not to Farsiris."_

_An anger like none other blossomed in her chest, firing random pulses like sparks over every inch of her flesh. She breathed, somehow she breathed, but it wasn't good enough. She couldn't gulp in the oxygen properly, like a fish gapping at the bottom of an empty fishbowl. Before the sheer force of her rage became physical—either by her accidentally snapping her wand in half or, worse, discharging a curse or hex at her superior—she dropped the slender piece of wood. It hit the floor and she thought she'd never heard something so deafening._

_"How can you ask this of me?" she cried, crushing her balled fists against her chest. Foolishly she feared she would die of suffocation, of the tremendous lead weight of emotion that threatened her rationality, her sanity. A strange and nauseating wave of raw human instinct inflamed her senses—if her fingers hadn't been clutching the front of her robes there was no doubt she could have lased out at the Minister. "I'm her _mother_."_

_"Miss Granger, you're not her real mother." She hadn't known the Minister to be so heartless._

_"Do you think that matters to me?" she yelled, her arms coming unhinged and sweeping through the air between them. "To her? If Draco is taken to Azkaban and I'm the one to do it—how can she look at me? How am I supposed to raise her?"_

_"Either you go," he said sternly, gaining her full attention, "or the Auror taking your place permanently will go. It's your decision."_

"Shut your foul mouth," she warned, shaking her head free. She raised her wand just enough to be threatening. "I didn't have to come here and speak with you, Malfoy, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

He rolled his eyes and looked away.

"I don't think what they're saying about Blair is true, do you hear me?" Her tone had suddenly dropped to a low whisper. "I came here to find out how the hell your name came up in all this and get you cleared. So drop the high-and-mighty act and start talking, because I don't have a hell of a lot of time."

Draco gave her a questioning look, his eyes rimmed, his face as gray as the walls around them.

"Then you're risking your neck for nothing."

Hermione sat back and surveyed her long-time enemy, searching for something, anything, to figure out what he meant.

"What is that supposed t—"

"It means I'm guilty!" he grunted, exasperated. "I _have_ been in contact with Keiran Blair."

"Draco, how—"

"Could I?" he laughed, shaking his head as if she'd just told a mildly amusing joke. "I told you," he said, leaning forward, the single light in the room catching the color of his hair perfectly. "_Never_ trust a Malfoy."

"And Farsiris?"

His countenance shifted for the smallest fraction of a second. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. And then he said the worst thing possible.

"Do you actually think I would allow _anyone_ to stand in my way?"

And when he looked at her again she saw not Draco Malfoy, not a father and an ally. She saw just what he wanted her to see: a Death Eater.

"I—" she began, but cut herself off and shoved the packet of paper hard across the table. It was worse the betrayal, because she truly believed he would never betray her, not like this. "Good luck at your trial, _Malfoy_. Maybe you'll see your daughter again before you die."

The door opened with a creak.

"I'm sorry I ever trusted you."

And slammed shut with a rattle.

"Me too…"

* * *

No one said the obvious, said what everyone was thinking. It had been a long and treacherous journey, a road that ended with their trust in Draco Malfoy. They should have known, should have seen the mirage so plainly visible now—the road had ended alright, with a perilous cliff face, and Hermione hadn't stopped falling since the day she'd confronted Malfoy in containment.

As the trial grew closer, the day marked blood red on Hermione's calendar, her resolve grew both weaker and stronger. On the one hand, she was obligated as an Auror and defended of the Light to uphold good and prevail over evil. On the other—her daughter, driven to tears and muted fury, her once-luminous ink-black eyes now hollow slits that could instill fear in the most powerful of wizards. How could she both retain her morals and ease Farsiris' pain and anguish? Hermione was smart enough to realize that half was sadness and fear for her father, the other half pure anger and both Hermione and Malfoy. And though, at such a young age, she didn't truly grasp what was going on, what her father had done, she knew enough to feel as she rightfully should feel.

Every day that ticked by Hermione would approach Farsiris' room, a tray laden with rich and healthy foods—foods Farsiris used to squeal with glee over—and every day Farsiris would ignore the meals, only taking a scrap of bread and glass of water when necessary. If Hermione didn't know better, she'd think she was a full-grown adult on a hunger-strike.

Finally, the day before the trial, Hermione broke down. It was too much. For weeks she'd ignored every ounce of feeling that crept into her bones for the sake of her daughter, for her sanity and stability. She didn't allow herself to be angry, sad, hurt, betrayed—only numb and determined to get Farsiris, and herself, through this.

The sobs wrecked her body in such violent spasms her skin felt shaken loose, barely grappling onto her bones that in themselves were too weak to support the crushing physical pain of her emotions. Her knees, stable as a house made of twigs, gave way with a sickening crunch as she hit the hardwood floor outside Farsiris' room. She was so weak, so exhausted that she couldn't even will herself to cry with dignity and grace somewhere her daughter wouldn't see.

Tiny fingers, no longer than a matchstick, touched the flushed skin of her face. Hermione looked up, eyes red-rimmed and burning, to see Farsiris, her face arranged in the exact same manner—a mirror image—looming over her. Another, unavoidable, sob burst from deep within her as Hermione grasped desperately at the child's small frame, crushing her body against her as gently as she could.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I never wanted this. I tried to stop it. I tried…I'm so sorry." Even Hermione didn't truly know what she was saying. Tried to stop what? She hadn't known what Malfoy was up to. But the words spilled from her like a million newborn spiders from their mossy egg.

Farsiris could have backed away and left Hermione lying in her crippling sorrow. She could have yelled a million and one things at her, deserved or not. She could have done nothing, masking her feelings like a statue as she had all this time.

Instead, she reached her little arms up to return Hermione's embrace, and whispered, "I know."

And Hermione fell in love with her all over again.

* * *

Two hours before the trial and Hermione found herself in the same stonewalled room she'd been in nearly a month earlier, with the same soulless man sitting at the table across from her, his eyes staring through her as if a life-sentence to Azkaban wasn't mere hours away. Because there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he would lose his trial.

"All I want to know is why," she said slowly, arms crossed, her hands clutching her elbows. It had taken more than courage for her to walk through that door and confront him alone—for she would certainly be confronting him on the stand—it had taken her daughter's strength. If Farsiris hadn't had the strength to forget her anger and console Hermione the night before, she doubted very much that she'd be standing here right now.

Malfoy, not shifting his eyes, picked at the dirt under his nails.

"Why, after everything you've done for your daughter, would you hurt her like this?"

A flash of something—guilt, anger?

He remained silent as the stone around them.

"It doesn't make sense," she concluded, heading for the exit. It was too much to even think of him right now, let alone look at him. "I still don't believe it's true," she whispered, fighting against another emotional earthquake. "I don't understand…"

"Sometimes things in life truly are black and white," he said, then promptly dropped his eyes, unwilling to make a further sound. He'd done everything in his power to hide any conceivable emotion from her, drawing up the same mask their daughter had worn for too long.

And it was that indifference, that need to show no conviction either way, that made her realize he was hiding something. Normally, the prospect of Malfoy hiding something from her was as natural as breathing. But, when he had willingly admitted to his betrayal, going so far as to refuse his love for his daughter, leaving nothing to be questioned—when someone revealed all like there was nothing to hide, then, logically, there was no reason to hide anything.

"Maybe so," she finally said, gritting her teeth. Who was she kidding? Malfoy was guilty, end of story—black and white, like he'd said.

But then why did his inevitable punishment seem so wrong?

* * *

I wonder how many of you could have predicted that:P Heeheehee! Not even I could have, haha, because that came out of nowhere. I was just typing along all—Ooo, Hermione and Draco love each other, Ooo Ahh Ooo!—when suddenly I had Draco arrested. Ok, it wasn't exactly like that, but the idea did just pop into my head that fast.

**REVIEW!** Or suffer my wrath! Muahaha!

Next time: the trial.


	15. The Trial

Recap:

"Maybe so," she finally said, gritting her teeth. Who was she kidding? Malfoy was guilty, end of story—black and white, like he'd said.

But then why did his inevitable punishment seem so wrong?

* * *

Chapter 15: The Trial

The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot glided into the court room, his professional robes billowing out behind him, illuminating his stature and commanding air. He nodded curtly at each of the other members of the Wizengamot, then took his seat rather roughly. He scanned the room, his small black eyes taking everyone into account. Hermione's stomach flip-flopped as his eyes made contact with hers. He hesitated for the briefest fraction of a second—Hermione could have sworn his lip involuntarily twitched when he saw her. She wasn't blind—or deaf, evidently—she'd heard her co-workers talking. They didn't trust her anymore than they trusted Malfoy. With all the time she'd spent at the manor—no matter how forced—well, it didn't make her look good. Nothing she did anymore was a secret, consequently. She'd only confessed to one person—Scrimgeour himself—that she wanted to testify at the trial. _For_ Malfoy. As a sort of character witness. It seemed the whole Ministry—including her closest friends—now knew. What they didn't know, however, was that her request had been denied. The Minister had different plans for her.

Thankfully she hadn't seen Harry, Ron, or Ginny that morning—the news of her involvement in the trial had only been leaked today. None of them were in the court room yet. The trial didn't begin for another ten or fifteen minutes.

As the rest of the voyeurs filed in, Hermione couldn't help the small cosmetic touches she subconsciously made to her face and hair. Not that her appearance mattered; her colleagues had her black-listed for consorting with a Death Eater. Scrimgeour must have conveniently forgotten to mention that it was her _job_ to keep an eye on Malfoy's activities. There was also little doubt in her mind that her adoption of Farsiris was swimming through all these people's thoughts.

And the same was true for Hermione. Farsiris was all she could think about. How was she? That morning—as Hermione left her with a stuffy Ministry official—her big creamy golden eyes (while having no problem meeting her own) were vacant and hollow. She hadn't said much, her small hands curled around the stuffed dragon Hermione had first seen her with. As advanced as she was, she was still a little girl—a little girl who needed comfort, who needed her father.

"I…I don't know what to say," Hermione had sighed, pulling Farsiris to her. "I don't know what to do…I'm sorry."

"My dad doesn't do anything," Farsiris had replied in a whisper, her face buried in Hermione's curls, "without a reason."

That small phrase now echoed off the walls inside Hermione's head, burrowing deep within her brain. Did it mean she believed her father to be innocent? And, if so, then why? What proof did she have?

The only thing worse than sending Farsiris's father to Azkaban, Hermione thought, was sentencing an innocent man. Yes, Draco was a vial, rude, contemptuous prat—but, if he was not guilty, then even he didn't deserve Azkaban. There were only a handful of people still alive who Hermione believed ought to rot in one of those dank cells until the end of time.

Bowing her head slightly in shame, Hermione's thoughts drifted to the day before Draco's arrest, the day of their first kiss; she didn't count those fake stiff-lipped ones in Japan. She couldn't remember a single other person she'd kissed who had ignited such raw passion within her. She accredited it to their mutual hatred of one another—the way her nails dug into his skin of their own volition or how urgently his hands roamed her body, playing the role of a blind man. A part of her—buried deep and constantly guarded from her conscious mind—regretted not allowing their would-be affair to continue. She almost couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like. She knew how it would have ended, of course—her cursing the day he was born—and how they would have acted around one another afterwards. Harry would have eventually found out, she couldn't have kept something so big from him. And then what? She didn't want to think about it.

And then there was the way they'd parted before Harry returned with Farsiris. What had he meant by "dig deeper"? Was it something she was already supposed to know? OR did she have to figure it out? Either way, she was completely in the dark. And with Draco's sentence practically signed off on, she would never find out what he'd meant. Right now she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

A sharp sound jolted Hermione from her thoughts. She looked up to see several Aurors, Harry and Ron included, enter the room with Draco—shackled—in the midst of them. She fought to look anywhere but at them, the three of them so close to each other. No one had told her Harry and Ron would be bringing Draco in! She didn't know what she'd have done had she known, but she certainly would have been prepared.

Once Draco was seated before the Wizengamot, the Aurors fell back behind him in perfect form—as if they were military soldiers—their feet shoulder-width apart, their arms behind their backs, wands clutched in one hand.

For once Hermione was grateful she couldn't see either of her best friends' faces in such a dire time. For the time being, she was a spectator like everyone else.

"Draco Malfoy," came the thick, gritty voice of the Chief Warlock. "You have been brought here—for the second time—for your involvement with a group known as the Death Eaters. Do you deny this?"

Draco didn't hesitant.

"No."

"Then you admit to having contact with one Keiran Blair?"

"Yes."

"Blair had informed us that you passed him sensitive Ministry information. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

The clipped way he answered the Chief Warlock's questions was as if someone had struck Hermione hard across the face. They sounded so true. They why did she still clutch that glimmer of hope that he could be innocent? He looked her straight in the eyes and confessed. She should accept it and move in. There was only one thing stopping her.

She truly had trusted him. And because that was such an incredible feat for her—with anyone—she _refused_ to believe he'd done what he said he had.

"Miss Granger."

Her name rang off the walls.

"Come to the front."

Pooling in as much dignity as she could, Hermione left her seat in the back, only stopping just before the Chief Warlock. Harry, Ron, and Draco were behind her and she could feel all three sets of eyes. Her stomach lurched, but she held strong.

"Turn and address Mr. Malfoy with your questions."

If only the man would look at her, then she'd have the strength to turn around and face them, instead of having to scramble for it.

His eyes were locked on her when she finally made in 180 degrees around. He looked so different, even from the few hours before, his face almost calm, almost happy.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, her tongue twice the size of her mouth. "Since you do not deny consorting with Keiran Blair, is it justifiable to assume that you are no longer loyal to the Ministry of Magic?"

Draco adjusted somewhat in his chair. Behind him Harry and Ron flinched, ready to pounce.

"Sure," he finally answered, his tone noticeably different from the one used with the Chief Warlock.

"Yes or no." With each passing second she drew in more strength. If they were there much longer she might not be able to keep herself from strangling him. He looked so smug, so much like the old Draco she'd known at school. And yet he wasn't smiling. But he wasn't frowning either.

"Yes."

"Did you, at any time, meet up with Keiran Blair?"

"Yes."

"How many times?" she asked through her teeth, the anger coursing through her like boiling mercury.

"Several."

"When?"

"Often."

She sprang forward so fast Harry and Ron had no time to react. Her hands gripping the arms of his chair, she held his eyes with remarkable strength for someone who felt so weak, so disgusted, to used.

"When I was watching your daughter?" she yelled, her fingernails digging in to the wood of the chair.

"Everytime."

"And you did this of your own volition?"

"Of course," he sneered, sticking his neck out. Their noses were almost touching. Harry made to move around the chair, but stopped when Hermione held her hand up. She could handle this. She _had_ to handle it.

"Why?"

He leaned in even further; Hermione didn't budge.

"Why?" she demanded again, more forcefully, if that were possible.

"Because I'm evil." He had the audacity to smile. "But you already knew that, Hermione."

His lips touched hers and she was so stunned that he would even attempt to kiss her in a room full of people that for a long time she couldn't move.

Ron was on him before Hermione had a chance to pull back. His arm was tight around Draco's neck, crushing his airway.

"It's alright," Hermione said when she found her voice. Gasps and whispers were floating around the room. "Ron, I'm fine." When he showed no signs of letting Draco breathe, she stepped in, gently prying him away.

"Another move like that, Mr. Malfoy," the Chief Warlock said fiercely, "and this trial is over."

"My apologies," Draco said with absolutely no sincerity.

"I see no reason to continue this charade, sir," Hermione said, turning her back on Draco. For good. "Clearly Malfoy committed the crime and should be sent to Azkaban. Unless he can give us useful information, I see no reason to be lenient with him. A life sentence for conspiracy to re-establish old ideals of Dark Magic. I do not believe he should be granted visitation rights, either."

"Very well, Miss Granger. The Wizengamot will vote and take your suggestions into consideration."

Ten minutes later the Wizengamot voted unanimously to send Draco to Azkaban for life without visitation rights. As calm as if he were given a tranquilizer, Draco was escort from the room to be taken directly to prison.

When the room was nearly cleared out—Harry and Ron were waiting for Hermione in the hall—the Chief Warlock approached her, shaking her hand.

"You did a great job today, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir."

That night she cried herself to sleep, only waking once around three in the morning when Farsiris crept into bed with her.

* * *

"You don't need to check in on me all the time," Hermione sighed, setting a cup of tea in front of Ginny; Ron wasn't thirsty. "I'm fine."

It was three months since the trial. Farsiris was holding up rather well for a girl who'd lost nearly everything. She was now enrolled in a muggle elementary school; she didn't like it much, but soon enough she would be off to Hogwarts. Hermione was adjusting well to being a full-time mother, lavishing Farsiris with almost too much affection. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna all checked in on her regularly, as if at any moment she would crack.

"You look better," Ron commented. And she really did. She put make-up on now, though not much, and presented herself in a very different way. She was beginning to enjoy life again, and she had Farsiris to thank for that.

"Thanks," Hermione laughed.

About an hour later Farsiris came home, a deep frown etched in her features.

"What's wrong sweety?"

The small girl only shrugged, then disappeared into her room.

"Is she alright?" Ginny asked.

"She's fine," Hermione sighed. "She has her bad days, you know."

Ron and Ginny left a short while later and Hermione started dinner, checking in on Farsirir every so often, who was working diligently on her homework. Pouring a box of pasta into a pot of boiling water, Hermione sighed deeply, allowing a smile to grace her lips. She was a mother, and she couldn't have been more proud of her daughter. She still wondered, from time to time, how this had all happened, but didn't dwell on it too much. Draco was in the past and he was going to stay there. It would take some getting used to, not seeing him ever again—one day Farsiris would understand. Just because she wanted her father to be good didn't mean it would happen. Hermione was phenomenally grateful that Draco had had the sense to agree to the adoption, though she never would know why. Not that it mattered. Everything had worked out so perfectly, she didn't need a reason anymore. He was in jail and she was taking care of their daughter, simple as that.

Somehow the pot of spaghetti was on the floor, the steaming water everywhere, clumps of noodles limp and dirty. She didn't recall hearing it drop, didn't know how it happened. All her mind could register was one thing: there was a reason. Draco wouldn't have let her adopt Farsiris if he didn't have a good reason.

"Mom?" came Farsiris's small voice from the kitchen doorway. "What happened?"

"Grab your shoes," Hermione instructed her, leaving the mess on the floor.

"Wh—"

"I'm taking you to Uncle Harry's, ok?"

"What's going on?"

"I don't have time to explain," she said apologetically. "Come on. Let's go."

* * *

The cell was smaller than she imagined. The walls were high, seeming to disappear into the sky, the ceiling hidden in shadow. He sat, legs out in front of him, his back against one of the walls—it didn't matter which one. His once lustrous blond hair now hung loose and stringy in his eyes. He had scruffy facial hair, too, and Hermione thought how strange he looked, she'd never even thought of him with hair on his face before.

He didn't look up at her, didn't acknowledge her presence.

"Draco," she said, crouching down to his level, one hand gripping the bars.

He didn't respond. Could he hear her?

"Draco, I have to ask you something."

Still he ignored her.

"Draco," her voice was hard and angry now. "It's about Farsiris."

He flinched ever so slightly, but didn't look at her.

"You care about her, I know you do," she continued. Well, if he wasn't going to look at her then she might as well keep going. "I saw love when you looked at her. I don't know why you did it, but you couldn't have unless you were absolutely sure Farsiris would be taken care of."

He blinked, then finally looked up. If he didn't have any eyes if wouldn't have made a difference. What he was looking through were not his eyes; they were dead, dull, useless. Like his soul. Like him.

"That's why you let me adopt her," Hermione said, not faltering, no matter how queasy his gaze made her feel. "Because you love her. I just have to know why. If you cared for her so much, why did you betray her?"

"There's a reason for everything," he said, his voice scratchy because he wasn't used to using it.

"I know. What's yours, Draco?"

"There's a reason," he said again, "why I won't tell you. Now leave. I don't want to see you again."

Her fingers slipped from the bar and she stood on shaky legs.

"Do you really mean that?"

He looked back at the floor, or his feet, she didn't know which.

"Yes."

"Then I won't come back."

"Good."

"I'm sorry it ended like this. I'm sorry Farsiris had to get hurt."

He raised his head again, and this time there was something different about his eyes.

"I'm not."

* * *

Don't worry my readers! Don't worry! I know things seem hopeless right now, but have faith in me:)

**REVIEW!** Or you'll never know what happens next…


	16. 14J

Recap:

"I'm sorry it ended like this. I'm sorry Farsiris had to get hurt."

He raised his head again, and this time there was something different about his eyes.

"I'm not."

* * *

Chapter 16: 14J

_"You want me to kill _who!_" he balked, waving his hands and arms in a wild and very unbecoming gesture. He'd been there five minutes and already he wanted to rip the other man to pieces._

_"You heard me, Malfoy," Keiran Blair laughed, shaking his head as if he knew some personal inside joke. "Kill Hermione Granger. Unless, of course, you can give me a very good reason for keeping her alive. I mean," he chuckled softly, vindictively, "I can _almost_ understand your willingness to protect your daughter, but the mudblood? Please tell me you haven't gone soft since the war." He straightened himself up suddenly, shifting his eyes into an accusatory stare. "Besides, I thought you wanted to prove yourself."_

_"Do you have any idea how difficult it would be to get anywhere close to her to kill her?" Draco countered harshly, sticking his nose in Blair's face. "Even if I _could_ get that close, she'd know what I was up to in a heartbeat. How the hell do you expect me to pull something like that off?"  
_

_"Well you certainly owe it to us." He was of course referring to the rogue Death Eaters and how badly Draco betrayed them during the war._

_"I was following my father's instructions and you damn well know that! He did the same thing; saved his own neck. What's it matter either way, Blair? The war's over. There's nothing to fight over anymore."_

_"Nothing to fight over!" Blair had him by the collar so fast Draco nearly dropped his wand. "I know it's your job to work with filthy mudbloods, but to actually _sympathize_ with them. Draco, where's your honor?"_

_Draco sighed deeply and nodded._

_"I assume that means you accept your mission?"_

_"Assume what you will," Draco spat, shoving him back. "I'm leaving."_

* * *

"When is the play again?" Hermione called down the hall as she flipped through her planner. Farsiris's class was to attend a play sometime in the next few weeks and Hermione had agreed to chaperon.

Farsiris emerged from her room and sighed loudly; it must have been the tenth time Hermione asked her the same question.

"It's in one week, mum," she said, sounding irritated.

"Thanks sweety." She turned back to her calendar and wrote herself a note in huge block letters. She was about to close the planner and start dinner, when something caught her eye. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that she'd written. It was a certain date, sitting innocently between all the other dates, pretending to be normal when it knew damn well it wasn't. Tomorrow was the day that mark one year since Draco had been sent to Azkaban.

Hermione groaned and shoved the small leather-bound book into her purse. No wonder Farsiris had been cranky and short with her as of late; she wasn't naïve, she knew.

"What do you say we eat out tonight?" Hermione asked, putting on her best fake smile. "Just the two of us. And then we can take a walk through the park."

Farsiris's eyes brightened considerably and she ran back into her room to get changed.

* * *

"Why do you care?"

Hermione looked up from her book, resisting the urge to smile. She'd been sitting there almost four hours, her legs scrunched up to her chest, book balanced on her knees. She might have waited another four hours to get any sort of reaction from him.

"Why not?" she replied, and set her book aside slowly. Since Draco's incarceration, she'd been studying psychology and had come to visit him in secret once a month (for the past five months) since his one-year anniversary.

"Too many reasons," he sighed, his eyes shifting to the back wall of his cell. There was nothing there, of course, except stone and mortar and the most powerful of spells—she never knew what he was always looking at. "I thought you were smart, Granger."

"Just because you can't see the big picture, doesn't mean it isn't there. I have my reasons, Draco. You'll find out someday."

"I'd rather not."

Hermione looked down at her watch. In less than an hour Farsiris would be coming home. Why had it taken him this long to speak? And now he couldn't seem to shut up. There was so much she wanted to know—needed to know.

Hastily she scribbled a note on a torn blank page from the back of her book and called a guard.

"Please owl this to Harry Potter immediately. It's very important."

The guard took the parchment, nodded respectfully, then left them alone again.

"Does Potter know you come here to see me?" Draco sneered, turning to her so suddenly she nearly had no time to react. Her look of muted shock was not lost on him, no matter how brief. "Or is it our little secret?"

"You and a handful of guards are the only ones who know. Why do you ask? Does it bother you that I visit? If I were you—"

"Has someone cast a memory charm on you, Mudblood?" Hermione did her best not to cringe. It wasn't the use of the old insult or even his tone; it was something in his face, the way he couldn't quite hold that all-too-familiar glare. But what was it? "Of course it bothers me!"

"Don't you dare play the Mudblood card, Draco. I've spent more than enough time—"

"You don't know a damn thing about me, Hermione! You think I couldn't fake 'goodness' when I was around you? How naïve can you be! How blind? Don't you remember who I am? Who my father was?" He sighed loudly, having finished his rant, and eased his posture to what appeared to be a more comfortable position, if it could be called that.

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly, refusing to submit. His words meant nothing to her. She had the facts, the only problem was some of them were missing, and the ones she did have were mismatched and out of order.

"No Draco," she said calmly. "You're the naïve one to think I would buy a word you're saying after seeing you with your daughter. You love her, Draco. I know you do." She was now so close to his cell that her fingers were nearly touching the bars. "I've seen it. I've seen it and I don't believe even you could fake that."

Taking his time, Draco reached his arm out and cupped Hermione's chin with the gentleness of a new mother. He inched towards the bars until his knees touched them. She couldn't have resisted him with magic, his motions were far too powerful, and she was far too curious, too involved.

Their lips touched for the first time in over a year and a half and it was—for lack of any other word Hermione had ever read in her entire life—absolutely perfect.

Hermione moaned into his mouth, her hand searching almost frantically for his. Instead of obliging, however, he sat back, his face hollow of emotion.

"I'm a_ master_ at faking it, Mudblood. Now leave me alone."

Hermione shuddered inwardly, gave him a tight-lipped-no-hard-feelings smile, and stood to leave. It wasn't until she was outside that she realized, in the heat of argument, he had called her Hermione.

She started to plan their next meeting in her head immediately.

* * *

Harry crossed his arms and nodded, telling Hermione to proceed, to tell him what she'd come to say. It was more than obvious that she was bursting with whatever information she held. It was that look of hers, that look she used to get when she figured something out back at Hogwarts when they'd had so many of their adventures. Now, in adulthood, he rarely got the pleasure of seeing that face. He'd missed it more than he realized.

"I've been visiting—well, visiting isn't really the correct word. I've been interrogating…Uh," she sighed, raking her hair. "I've gone to see Draco for the past five months," she finally blurted out. "And today—just today—he _finally_ spoke. Harry, I—"

"Hermione, why are you doing this? The evidence against him—"

"I know. I know. But there has to be something. I have to find _something_ for Farsiris's sake."

"She's only a girl. She has time—"

"And you were only a baby when your parents were killed!" she suddenly lashed out, having had the anger pent up since the stunt Draco pulled. That, and she'd been prepared to defend herself since she decided to spill the beans to Harry. "Yet you insisted on avenging them. Harry! This is the same thing and you know it!"

He sighed loudly.

She mirrored him.

"Very well. But be safe, Hermione. Please."

She smiled, reaching across his kitchen table to give him a hug.

"You're the best, Harry. Even if I have to beat it out of you sometimes."

* * *

Ginny leaned against the doorframe, a steaming mug of tea held with both hands. A small smile graced her lips as she watched her fiancé sleep, his head resting on a stack of parchment and folders.

She woke him up with a light kiss on the forehead.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, brushing some loose strands of hair from his eyes; it was getting so long, and she loved it. "You shouldn't be feeding her obsession."

"If I find whatever she's looking for before she does then she can forget about Malfoy and get on with her life."

"Is it the first one or the second one?"

Harry gave her a blank look.

"Do you want to figure this out so she stops obsessing over Malfoy? Or because you want her to move on? Because I can't see her ever forgetting about him, Harry. Her daughter is his daughter."

"But the sooner she realizes he really is a bad guy and there's nothing she can do about it, the sooner she can sleep better knowing she gave it her best shot."

"Harry, you've looked through Blair's files a hundred times," she sighed, finally setting the tea on his desk. "You know what's there and so do I. Please don't strain yourself."

"I'm not interested in what's there," Harry groaned, grabbing the mug and giving Ginny a thank-you-smile. "I need to know what's missing. Blair couldn't have messed up this badly. There's full sheets of parchment missing, and other parts are simply blank as though erased by magic, things that are sure to send up a red flag. It's almost as if someone tampered with your files."

"You know that's impossible."

He took a gulp of minty tea, shaking his head.

"Improbable," he said, his speech and tongue thick with the tea's sweetness. "But," he added hastily, because Ginny could get very touchy with her work, "there is absolutely no evidence of anyone other than you and your co-workers saw these files."

"Does Hermione know you're doing this?"

Harry looked into his mug.

"No."

* * *

"Thanks Will."

"No problem Harry," the much older man with graying hair said as he slipped from Harry's modest office. It was only a few minutes later that there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Harry called.

"You sent for me?"

Harry smiled at the short blonde woman who wore black-framed glasses and a powder-pink cardigan.

"Yes, Celia," he said, sliding a thin folder across his desk. "I heard you were skilled at finding hidden magic, especially in documentation."

"That is why they hired me," Celia laughed, maybe a little too much. Harry nearly frowned—he hoped she didn't get the wrong idea.

"Can you take a look at those papers for me, please? It would really help me out."

Celia sat in the comfortable chair provided across from him and took the proffered folder. Her smile faded when she opened it.

"But these are—"

"Blank. I know. I had them erased. Sorry, but the information they hold is classified and very important."

Celia nodded with understanding, though any blind man could see that she was disappointed. Despite this fact, however, she pulled out her wand from an unseen place on her person and tapped the top sheet of parchment. She did a few more things, all the while not saying a word, then set the folder down and looked up.

"Yes, there is hidden magic," she informed him. "_A lot_…Harry, what are these papers?"

"If I were to give you a wand, could you test it to see if it was the wand used to place magic on those documents?"

Celia sighed and stretched out her arm, her hand open palm up.

"No, come with me," he said, and stood.

They walked in silence down the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, each having their own thoughts to mull over. Soon they reached the elevator and Harry pressed the appropriate floor.

"When we get there," he said, turning to her, "the man—Mr. North—is going to put a spell on you, for secrecy purposes. Please, don't take offense. Everyone has to do it."

"Harry," she laughed, touching his arm as if she needed to gain his attention. "I'm the head of my department. I have that charm cast on me nearly everyday."

Harry smiled at this and the elevator doors opened and they stepped out.

"Good afternoon, Quinn," Celia said, offering the middle-aged man her hand. Quinn, or Mr. North as Harry referred to him, took her hand by the fingers and brought it to his lips.

"Lovely to see you, Ms. Jenkins," came his slightly scratchy voice. "Mr. Potter. How are you?" The two men shook hands, then Mr. North stepped into the room they'd come to and Harry and Celia followed, shutting and locking the door behind them.

"Celia, hello!" said one secretary as they walked.

"Celia! Nice to see you."

"How often do you come here?" Harry whispered once they were out of earshot.

"I told you," she laughed, smiling even broader. "Everyday. Unless I have an assignment that takes me out of the building."

"Here we are," Mr. North said, coming to a tall thin archway covered with a transparent gray veil. Harry shivered involuntarily; he hated archways. He'd even taken the tiny ceramic archway out of his fish tank that it'd come with. "Once you step through the arch," he said, looking at Harry, "stop and my wife on the other side will cast the charm. From there, you will proceed down hallway 7 to room 14J. Ask for George Miles. If George is not available, then Julia Winters will be there. Do you have all that?"

"Yes," Harry said, taking a tentative step towards the ominous archway. "Thank you. You've been a big help."

"Anything for you, Mr. Potter," Quinn laughed, giving him a friendly pat on the back. "We do all owe you something, you know."

Harry tried to hide the blush that was forcing its way onto his face; no matter how long it'd been since the war, people still believed they were indebted to him. And though it was flattering, sometimes he just wished they'd treat him like everyone else; nothing special.

"14J," Celia said, pointing at the room with the small metal placard on it. "Hmm, I've never been in 14J before," she mused, glancing at the door to its right and left. "In fact…" She reached out and touched the raised number and letter, a contemplative look on her face. "I've never seen this door before, Harry. It always went from 14I to 14K. I never thought about it before, but…How strange."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "It is." And without wasting anymore time, he opened the door to find a solidly built woman in her late sixties sitting behind a desk, shuffling through leaves of parchment and mumbling to herself. "Excuse me—" He glanced at the name on the desk. "—Mrs. West—" This gave him pause. Where were South and East? "—Is George Miles available?"

Mrs. West looked up as if she had never seen another human being before, then lowered her eyebrows and pointed at the only other door in the room. It was marked: GM-Highly Sensitive Dark Objects.

"Thank you," Harry said, though the woman was back to her work as if they hadn't disturbed her.

"Don't mind her," Celia said. "I mean, I don't know her personally, but the people who work on this level…Well, let's just say they have different priorities than me or you."

"I'll bet," he mused, glancing over his shoulder once before knocking on the door.

"I told you not to disturb me until—" George Miles stopped short, having opened the door and seen his visitors. "Why, Harry Potter, is that you?" Harry nodded, offering the man his hand. "Come in, come in," he said, taking his hand with both of his and practically dragging Harry inside. "And who is your lady friend?"

"Celia Jenkins." He too kissed her hand.

"Ahh, Jenkins. Quinn has told me about you. You're quite the witch, as I hear it."

"Thank you, Mr. Miles."

"Well, sorry to rush you," he said, gesturing to his desk, a frenzy of paperwork, strange objects, and a cloud of smoke hovering just above it, "but as you can see I'm very busy. What can I do for you?"

Harry reached into his cloak and pulled out a piece of parchment, giving him permission to access the artifact he wanted.

George Miles read over the document carefully, then looked up, smiling with an almost childlike deviousness.

"And what do you need Mr. Malfoy's wand for?"

* * *

OMG! I am so so so so so so so soooooooo unbelievably sorry that it's taken me this long to update. I hope I haven't chased any of you away. And I hope you liked my newest chapter.

Please REVIEW!


	17. Something Like The Truth

Recap:

George Miles read over the document carefully, then looked up, smiling with an almost childlike deviousness.

"And what do you need Mr. Malfoy's wand for?"

* * *

Chapter 17: Something Like The Truth 

"_Miss Granger_," Scrimgeour said, touching her arm.

"There has to be something you—"

"Miss Granger, you aren't—"

"—can do, Minister. There must be something I can do, I mean, I have say here, don't I? I should—"

"HERMIONE!"

A piece of dust hitting the floor could have been heard in the five-second silence that followed.

"Yes?" she asked, lowering her eyes. Of course she had been overwhelming the Minister of Magic with her tirade, and yet, somehow, she didn't care, and was only keeping quiet to see if he could help her in any way. She wondered, fleetingly, when she'd become this demanding, this harsh, this pushy. For so much of her life she'd prided herself on being smart _and_ kind—when had things changed so drastically? She was making rash decisions and flying off the handle at the drop of a hat. And for who? Someone who could care less about her and what she was trying to do for him, for his daughter.

But—for better or worse—this was the path she'd chosen, and she wasn't about to turn back now.

"Thank you," Scrimgeour sighed, his shoulders rising and falling with the air he exhaled. "Now, Miss Granger, you have to understand something that I feel you have over-looked. I understand the evidence you've shown me, and the information from Mr. Potter, but there's still one thing missing."

Hermione only stared, somewhat horror-struck. What could she have missed?

"Mr. Malfoy," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe. "If he does not choose a re-trial, then he does not have one."

"But—"

"Take what you have shown me to Azkaban," he offered, handing her the proper documentation. "And when he tells you 'no', then I am ordering you to stay away from him, is that clear? So far I have been lenient with you in regards to Mr. Malfoy." His voice was steadily rising. "You have broken too many rules and laws for me to count, and I _only_ tolerate it because you are my best Auror and I need you. But, if you continue this, then…well…I don't know how useful you will be anymore."

Hermione took the papers from her boss (maybe a little too roughly) and nodded to indicate her cooperation.

"Anything else, _sir_?"

"Be careful."

* * *

It wasn't until he pulled off her shirt that Hermione allowed herself to realize it was a dream. Very real, very sensory, and _extremely _amazing—but a dream all the same. 

His teeth raked across her neck as though he'd been schooled in seduction, his hands finding just the right place to grab her, to yank her closer.

"This isn't real," she whispered, her lips pressed tight against his forehead; his lips were elsewhere, and the reason for the rasp in her voice.

"That doesn't mean you can't enjoy it," he replied, smirking up at her. That figured; even in her dreams he was a pretentious asshole. She wanted to…slap him? But…no. That wasn't right. Any other time, during consciousness, that would have been the first thought to cross her mind. Yet now, when she knew she wasn't technically doing anything wrong, causing him harm was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I," she struggled, grabbing at anything to say. But all that came out was, "You're right." And her apprehension was forgotten with her clothes on the floor.

His hands were softer than she remembered, trailing across the terrain of her body as if he'd been given a map in advance. His fingers curled under the thin fabric of her panties, the only piece of clothing she has left. He, on the other hand, was still in his boxers (ironically red) and under shirt.

She gasped involuntarily, sucking in a cool bite of air, as he tore the moist garment from her body.

"I love you, Hermione," he whispered, and she could feel his warm breath on her stomach, just as easily as she could feel the blood run acidic in her veins.

She woke up, sobbing, to the sound of an owl at her window.

* * *

All the way to Azkaban Prison, Hermione could only think about was her dream. The intimacy hadn't bothered her. Not so much, anyway, as what he'd said only seconds before she was startled awake, confused and shaken. If she had known it was a dream, had been conscious of the fact that he wasn't actually there, touching her and causing her that pure bliss, then why had those words escaped his lips? It was logical that she had control over the dream because she knew it wasn't real, so then why had her control suddenly slipped? Or was it something else, something she refused to see? 

"You're not expected for another week," the third guard she saw commented. She smiled softly at the aging man with grayish skin from lack of sunlight; she'd always liked him in a dopey uncle sort of way.

"Well, Michael," she said, easing the door open to the hall she was all too familiar with by now. "It seems my luck has changed for the better. If all goes well, I'll be out of your hair for good."

"Then who would I talk to?" Michael asked playfully, then shut the door behind her, spell-locking it with a flick of the wrist.

The images of her dream struck her like a hurricane the minute she laid eyes on him, placid and bone-white as ever. She shoved those thoughts as far from the forefront of her mind as possible, then conjured a chair and took a seat as close to the bars as she could get without him being able to touch her.

"You're early," Draco said.

"Yes," she replied. "Everyone seems to be making the same observation."

He snorted and turned his head away from her.

"Draco, I'm here today because…because I've decided that this will be my last visit…and…and I wanted to get it over with if I was going to fail."

He laughed out-right at this, shaking his head in apparent amazement.

"You? Fail? That's rich, Granger." And then he turned back to her, dropping his knees into a more comfortable position. "Well," he sighed irritably. "Out with it. Just because I happen to have all day, doesn't mean I wish to spend it with you."

Hermione pursed her lips to keep from lashing out at him and reached into her briefcase.

"Very well," she said. "If that's what you want." She pulled out a fairly long piece of parchment and held it up to the bars so Draco could see what it was.

"Is this what's supposed to suddenly make me proclaim my innocence?" he laughed, gesturing for her to get the paper out of his face. She didn't oblige, however, her fingers curling involuntarily in her anger.

"This is a page from Keiran Blair's file," she informed him.

"I can see that."

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that so many places are blank?"

He shrugged and sat back.

"Look closely."

"It looks fine to me," he sighed. "I'm not an expert on—"

"Damn it Draco!" she cried, ripping the paper away. "Blair's file was magically altered! It was changed in such a way that it would _immediately_ send up a red flag."

"And what does that have to do with me!" he hissed back, giving no sign that this effected him in the least. He could have been a cranky child, woken from his afternoon nap to be blamed for something his little brother did. He was certainly acting childish.

"It was changed with _your_ wand!"

He was silent.

"Care to explain?"

"Blair—"

"Stole it? Not likely, Draco. Impossible, in fact."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Why would Blair alter his own file, incriminating himself? The only thing he could possibly get from that is to send you to jail, but why would he do that when he could just kill you?"

"What do you want me to say, Granger? I'm not changing my story."

"No?"

"No," he answered firmly.

"Not even for her?"

Draco had absolutely no time to react. The door swung open and, only yards away, down the dark corridor, stood his tiny daughter, flagged by three guards holding wands. His resolve crumbled when he saw the look on her face. It was as if she could care less if he rotted his life away in that cell.

"Issa," he whispered, unable to control his vocal cords.

* * *

Flashback: 

_His wand was raised, pointed directly at her sleeping form, at her heart. Two words. That's all it took and then his problems would be solved._

_She rustled in her sleep, shifting slightly in the comfortable library chair she'd passed out in. He glanced at his watch, wondering where the great Harry Potter was at this hour, and if he would be able to sense that his best friend was no longer in the same plain of existence_

_A tremor rush through the air.._

_"Fuck," he swore, jamming his wand back inside his robes and storming from the room. He awoke the following morning, his face pressed to the blotter on his desk. But the uncomfortable position he'd fallen asleep in was not the reason he was so quick to wake—someone was at the door._

_His visitor—if he could be called that—didn't even wait for Draco to open the door all the way before he said, "Your time is up, Malfoy."_

_"You said—" he tried, but was stopped with a Silencing Charm._

_"Ok, this is how this is going to work. I talk, you listen, and I get what I want or your daughter pays for your insurrection."_

_Behind his invisible mask Draco nodded, frantically searching for a way to reach his wand and kill him too fast for him to dodge. But, everything he thought of was impossible and in a heartbeat he would be dead, leaving Farsiris no protection._

_"The last time we met, _Draco_, you agreed to my terms, you told me the Mudblood would be taken care of."_

_Draco ground his teeth._

_"That was months ago, and still the filthy creature lives and breathes. If she is not cold and blue by tomorrow evening, then I have no choice…well, you know the consequence. Think on it, Malfoy. What's more important to you? A Mudblood you can't stand or the pureblooded child you created. By midnight, and not a moment later, understand?"_

_The spell was lifted. Draco only nodded; words were irrelevant now._

_"Very good. I'll be by to view the corpse then."_

_The door clicked shut softly, leaving Draco alone and numb in the foyer, his mind as blank as an unpainted canvas._

* * *

_Getting Hermione to his house was the easy part; what came next was going to take much more than magic to pull off. He left the Manor immediately following her arrival, nearly positive that she didn't realize something was amiss._

_The carriage glided down the cobbled street, the thick scent of supper wafting from every window they passed. Sure, it was easy getting into Greece—it was the return trip he was worried about. By then the London branch of the Ministry would be notified and, well, he didn't know what would happen once they found out he'd left the country without permission._

_He slipped from the carriage, giving the driver a generous tip, then climbed the steps of the building he'd come to. It was a towering brick structure, probably built by "his kind"—he could tell by the seamless craftsmanship and the way it pierced the clouds. From the ground muggles didn't know that it actually did touch the sky, and never-ending edifice of bricks and magic._

_"Good afternoon, sir," a friendly receptionist in a lavender cardigan said sweetly. "How may I help you?"_

_Draco leaned on the counter she stood behind, his cool gray eyes mimicking the tower with their ability to reach above and beyond. Her lips pulled back slightly from her too-white teeth and he knew he was in; only that kind of smile could help him._

_"My superior sent me out blind, I'm afraid, Miss…"_

_"Carls. Cynthia Carls."_

_"Cynthia. How beautiful," he commented, brushing her hand as if by accident. "Cynthia, dear, as I was saying, my boss sent me here to retrieve some important documents and—the forgetful bugger—didn't give me any papers for clearance. He's a very busy man and I would hate to interrupt his grand-daughter's wedding—"_

_"What floor did you need, Mr.…"_

_"March," he said, taking her hand and giving the back a soft, warm kiss. "But I would love it if you called me James."_

_"James," Cynthia said, holding her blush incredibly well. "What floor did you say you needed to go to?"_

_"Thirteen-hundred and four, if I remember correctly." He reached carefully over the counter and lifted the small black book Cynthia had her elbows on. He turned it to the back, ran his finger down a column of names and departments, until he found the one he needed. "Ah, yes," he sighed, smiling, and handed her back the book, no harm done. "I was right. Do I require any special means with which to reach that floor?"_

_Cynthia bit her lip and nodded._

_"What is it? You're far too beautiful to be frowning." Draco wanted to slap himself and vomit at once. Not only was he pushing it with the sweet talk—she would catch on eventually—but the very thought of those words exiting his mouth was simply revolting._

_"That floor requires more than general clearance, James. I can't—"_

_Her soft body slumped down in her chair, her head knocking to the side as the spell took effect. He wondered, as he crossed the threshold of the elevator, how she hadn't seen his wand._

_Nearly three hours—and hundreds of swear words—later and he'd finally found what he'd been looking for. He glanced around the room, glaring at the millions of stacks of files—why wasn't a place like this better organized?_

_Turning the file over in his hands, he took a deep breath, then cracked it open. The name at the top read: Aric Sophronia. Draco smirked, adjusting his grip on his wand. This was going to take some fine magic to perfect._

End Flashback:

* * *

Farsiris walked towards him, her booted feet making a sharp clicking sound as she went. Her once flowing black curls were no more, replaced instead with pin straight shoulder-length hair. He would have demanded an explanation had he thought he deserved one. When she stopped, it was beside Hermione, and her expression was even darker, even more defined than a moment before. She wasn't the least bit pleased to be there. And she wanted him to know that. 

"Father," she said through her teeth, straightening herself up as if to appear the dominant one. But it was unnecessary—from the instant he laid eyes on her she'd always had control over him.

His heart screamed as it tore apart. He couldn't have stopped his tears—silent though they were—with all the magic in the world.

* * *

Well there's another one:) I'm a little faster now, getting back into my writing. Wow. I'm proud of myself. No updating in months, then 2 in a week. 

REVIEW!


	18. Raison d'être

Recap:

"Father," she said through her teeth, straightening herself up as if to appear the dominant one. But it was unnecessary—from the instant he laid eyes on her she'd always had control over him.

His heart screamed as it tore apart. He couldn't have stopped his tears—silent though they were—with all the magic in the world.

* * *

Chapter 18: Raison d'être

Arthur.

That's who Hermione thought of at this pivotal moment in the drama of her and Draco. Arthur, her son. For how else could she have related herself to the feelings that must have been coursing through Draco's entire being at that moment? He was a father, after all. He knew the joys and pains of being a parent, and most especially the pains.

She closed her eyes, taking in the pungent smell of the prison cells around her. Barely, just barely, she could detect—not hear, but detect—Draco crying. And that, more than anything, made her see just how right she'd been about him all along. True she'd never had anything definitive worked out, but her intentions, her actions, they'd all lead her here, to this moment, this turning point. Had she listened to any of the people trying to stand in her way then this moment would have never occurred. If nothing else, then she knew he truly did love his daughter. And that was worth more than his innocence right then.

"Are you ready to change your story _now_, Draco?" Hermione whispered, tentative to not disrupt the moment.

He looked up, his eyes wet with salty tears, though his face was surprisingly dry. He cast his gaze on Farsiris, smiling meekly for the first time in so long Hermione had been certain he wasn't capable of such an action any longer. And then he shifted his eyes to Hermione and his smile broadened. Every cell within her shrank and expanded simultaneously. This was it, what she'd been waiting so long for.

"No."

The universe imploded. And yet, they were still there.

"N-No?" She must have heard wrong. Surely Farsiris was the one. He _loved_ her, for Merlin's sake! How could he sit there and look her in the eye and deny her the father she needs? He just wasn't possible.

Unless…

"Then it is true…You…You sold us out."

"All the evidence is there, Granger. How could you honestly go against your better judgment?"

"D-Daddy?" Farsiris whispered, her voice heavy and wet. And there it was; a little girl can only hold her resolve for so long when faced with such terrible truths. "Daddy, please." She crept towards the cell, her tiny knees crashing to the hard floor as her equally tiny hands clutched the bars that separated her from her father.

He was slipping. Everything in his demeanor told Hermione that he was. And yet…

"Leave," he said through clenched teeth. "We're done."

"Very well," Hermione said, stepping in to take Farsiris' arm. "Issa, sweety, go with that nice guard over there. I want to say good-bye to your father."

Like the well-bred pureblood she was, Farsiris nodded and did as she was told, not giving Draco so much as a second glance before she turned and disappeared into the shadows. For all he knew, it was the last time he would see his daughter.

"Alright Draco, you've put me in a very difficult position." She was kneeling before him, there eyes matched, his glare piercing that tiny bubble of hope she'd foolishly brought with her. "My superiors informed me that this is my very last visit here, no matter what occurs. And, as of right now, I don't see how I could possibly convince you now after all that's happened. I have only one trick left up my sleeve, Draco. It's my last shot at doing what I believe is right."

"And if you're wrong?" he inquired, arching an eyebrow at her. She wanted to spit in his face, but held her own; she just kept reminding herself that she was here for a reason. "Nothing I have ever done should make you believe I'm innocent, and yet—for some ridiculous reason—you insist on marking me so. Just give up, Granger. Save the tears for something worthwhile."

"That's just it, Malfoy," she sighed, bowing her head ever so slightly. "You _are_ worthwhile."

She wasn't surprised when he laughed in her face, and so she took it with grace, continuing on as if he hadn't interrupted her.

"This is my good-bye to you, Draco, and it's going to have an impression on you, I promise." She reached her arm through the bars, touching his scruffy, unshaven face with the palm of her hand. She didn't know why it was this moment, but somehow the dream she'd had of him came back to her, of when he'd told her he loved her. It coursed through her veins like smoldering lava. She had feelings for him. Though nothing close to love, she had somehow, through all the turmoil they'd been through together, developed a crush on this broken and deranged man before her. She didn't allow herself to think on it for long, and instead leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips, then his forehead, then she leaned back and stood up. "This is my final good-bye, and it's your daughter's too, _forever_. Draco, the courts are taking your paternity from you; Farsiris is no longer yours."

"I expected as much," he sneered, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, but I don't think you expected _Harry_ to take custody of her."

Draco's expression changed just enough for her to know that her words had effected him.

"It will be finalized next week. And, soon enough, Farsiris will forget you all together. Good-bye Draco. I know this doesn't mean much, but I will miss you."

She turned slowly on her heels and, as she walked away, the tears could not be held back any longer. After all they'd been through, and this was how it ended.

In silence.

* * *

"I'm sorry, sweety," Hermione whispered, holding back as much of her sobs as she possibly could, which really wasn't all that much. Not that it mattered anyway; Farsiris was balling her eyes out as well, and Hermione held her as only a mother could, coaxing her to feel something other than pain and loss and sadness, something other than what she herself was feeling too. "I'm so sorry. I…I really…I really thought it would work. I thought—"

"But you were wrong!" Farsiris cried, shoving Hermione away from her.

Before she had time to react, to even gasp, Michael (the guard) came tearing at her, nearly knocking her on the ground in an attempt to get her attention.

"Miss! Miss!" he practically yelled, his hands on her shoulders, as if she were not already looking at him intently. "You must come back, you must! It is Mr. Malfoy. He is calling for you, for his daughter. He…He is shouting that he's innocent!"

Hermione's face, her heart, her soul—everything went completely blank for an instant. And then she heard Farsiris squeal and cry all at once. Her daughter was in her arms again, tugging at her to follow Michael back into Azkaban.

"I-I…Michael, how…how did—"

"Do not ask me, Miss Granger. Go to Mr. Malfoy. He is saying what you wanted; I think you must have succeeded."

"I-I…I don't believe it. H-How?"

Michael's lips cracked into a wide grin.

"Do not ask," he laughed with happiness; he was just so relieved that things were finally going Hermione's way. She certainly deserved it. "Just go. Go to him."

And so she did.

* * *

"I DIDN'T DO IT! I'M INNOCENT, DAMN IT! INNOCENT! DO YOU HEAR ME, HERMIONE? _INNOCENT_!"

"I hear you."

Draco's hands slipped from the bars he'd been holding, silence immediately blanketing them.

"I don't know where to start," she said, her voice soft and distant. Was it possible that she was dreaming when she wasn't even asleep? "I…How…Tell me," she sighed, falling to her knees before him. "Tell me everything."

"Where's our daughter? She has to be here too."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

"O-Our daughter?"

His hand was on the back of her head before she knew what was happening, their lips pressed together with such passionate intensity that she actually gasped.

"Yes," he breathed. "_Our_ daughter."

"I'm here, daddy," came her small voice as she stepped into view.

"Open the cell," he whispered, scrambling to his feet. "Open it!" The guard rushed over, looking to Hermione for assistance. She was with the Ministry after all.

"Go ahead, Michael," she told him, and without any more hesitation he slipped his magical key into the lock and the bars to the cell vanished before their eyes. Farsiris was in her father's arms not a second later. "Inform the Minister that Mr. Malfoy and myself will be arriving at the Ministry shortly."

* * *

Since Malfoy's name was first called out in the Auror meeting all that time ago, Hermione had become accustomed to seemingly infinite stretches of silence. This evening was no different, as she sat in a stiff chair before Rufus Scrimgeour, Draco at her side, shackled and surrounded by a dozen expertly trained Aurors. She changed a glance at him, finding his eyes focused unseeing at the floor, his features calm and placid. But she knew, she could see it, the faintest hint of a smile behind his lips. No matter what his plan had been, no matter what he had been aiming to accomplish with his false incarceration, he was undoubtedly happy to be innocent in the eyes of his beloved daughter once again. She could not imagine what he must have been feeling at that moment.

"Mr. Malfoy."

All heads turned to face the Minister, his loin-like attributes even more profound as he sat with his back straight, his shoulders squared regally.

"I have looked over your file, Mr. Blair's file, and all other evidence pertaining to the case brought against you regarding your involvement with Death Eaters subsequent to the war. I have also listened to a testimony by Miss Granger assuring your innocence. Pending an explanation, I see no further reason to keep you here or in your cell at Azkaban prison." Scrimgeour leaned forward, giving a wave of his hand as if to say, "Enlighten us."

"How…much certainty can you provide me that Keiran Blair will _never_ walk free?"

This was most definitely not what the Minister had been expecting. Hermione had not anticipated with either, but, as another dull silence ensued, the pieces slowly began to fall into place.

"What does this have to do with _your_ case, Mr. Malfoy? Blair merely implicated you falsely and planted evidence of your disloy—"

"With all due respect, _Minister_, you do not have the full story. Granger must have fabricated what you know, for I assure you that Blair's accusation of me was not false in the least."

"Miss Granger," the Minister sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "Do you mind explaining what's going on here? You informed me that Mr. Malfoy was innocent, that you had _proof_. And now he sits before me and tells me the same story he has been since the day he was arrested."

"Forgive his coyness, sir," she said, glaring sideways at Draco for being rude, "but there is plenty of proof."

"And just where is this proof? My patience is running thin."

Instead of answering, Hermione stood and walked swiftly from the room. Scrimgeour was about to protest, when she returned a moment later with a stone basin in her hands. She set the penseive down gently on his desk, then sat back down.

"All the proof you need is in there, Minister."

* * *

The Manor was bigger than she remembered, and colder. Draco remedied this immediately, taking Hermione and Farsiris into the library and lighting all six of the fireplaces that covered the walls of the massive room. He then instructed Farsiris to choose any story she wished and proceeded to read it to her as she sat perched on his lap, hanging on his every word.

Hermione watched them intently, and only after he had begun the third story, did she truly see what was happening, what they had become: a family.

Somewhere between the fights and the lies and the games, they had developed the closest bond any group of people could have. How had she not seen this sooner? When they were signing the adoption papers? When they dined together, just the three of them? When Draco pulled her roughly to him with passion and carnal need blazing in his icy gray eyes?

She sighed silently to herself, her thoughts drowning out his voice. This was her life now, like it or not. But she did like it, and that was the problem, wasn't it? Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were now permanently joined together and only now was she seeing it for what it was. Her friends had been right to try to stop her from adopting Farsiris; this must have been what they were afraid of, that she'd become attached, get too close, feel too much.

But how was she supposed to change things now?

It was nearly three in the morning by the time Farsiris was no longer able to keep her eyes open or her head up straight. Her tiny body lay softly against her father's chest, the light sound of her breathing the only noise in the entire room.

Together she and Draco brought their daughter upstairs to her bedroom and set her down, each giving her a kiss on the forehead before they left. Hermione didn't know what to expect once they were completely alone in the corridor, but the second the door clicked shut Draco backed her into the opposite wall, his hands on her body and his lips on her mouth.

"Wh-What are we doing?" Hermione breathed, very aware of the fact that he was undoing her shirt, and not two feet from the room where Farsiris slept.

"What we should have done long ago," came his answer.

She stepped back and, taking his face in her hands, she looked into his eyes, searching them for the answer to a question she did not know. He had changed so much since that first day she'd arrived on his doorstep bearing a letter, since their childhood days at Hogwarts, since the first instant their lips touched in Japan. Everything about him was different, and it showed no matter how much he wanted to hide it. Though, to be honest, she didn't know how much he was trying to hide anymore. His entire life had been about secrets and lies, and that was what landed him in Azkaban. Was it possible that Draco Malfoy was finally changed for the better? Permanently?

"Come with me," she said, smiling softly, her hand around his wrist. He asked no questions, that is until she pulled him into the master bathroom.

"What—"

"Your beard is tickling my face."

She sat him on the closed toilet, wrapping a plush towel around his neck.

"Don't tell me you're going to shave my beard," he laughed, eyeing the blade in her hands.

"That is precisely what I plan to do, Mr. Malfoy. Now hold still. You wouldn't want me to slip and cut you."

The whole process took her no more than twenty minutes and, after wiping off the remaining shaving cream with the towel, she was finally able to look upon a face she had not seen in over a year. Draco wasted no time and backed her into his bedroom the instant he could see that she was satisfied.

"I've had this dream before," she told him as they removed each other's clothing. "You…You were so gentle."

"Then it was definitely a dream," he laughed, tugging her remaining pair of panties off and dropping them to the floor. "Because I am anything but."

Hermione's eyes glazed over with passion and she smiled devilishly up at him.

"That's what I was hoping you'd say."

* * *

Draco was startled awake at dawn, bolting upright as if he'd heard a scream. But it was not a sound that woke him, but the sudden realization that he was alone. Placing his hand palm down on the bed beside him he sighed; it was cold.

He climbed out of bed, determined to find her, for she must have been in the Manor somewhere. His robe was halfway on when he noticed a folded piece of parchment on the bedside table. Reaching for it, he could not help the twinge in his chest; nothing good could be written there.

_Draco—_

_Thank you. Thank you for everything you've done, everything you've shown me. I came to your home that first day years ago with a letter, and though I did not see at the time how significant that day was, it changed my life, forever. Had I not accepted my assignment then none of this would have happened. Farsiris, though loving and trusting of her father, would have never known you for the real man you are. She would have grown thinking you were cold and lonely and sad. And so I am thanking you for that, and for so much more I could not possibly write it out._

_I will be gone when you read this, but worry not, I will be back. Farsiris is _our_ daughter after all, and I would not leave her for the world. But I must spend time away; away from you, from her, from everything that has brought me to this point in my life. I am staying with friends outside the country and will return for Farsiris' birthday._

_I do not know how much of this letter will mean anything to you, if at all, but I am writing it all the same. I care for you Draco, so much so that I must distance myself from you in order to understand my own thoughts. If you care for me half as much you will respect my decision and will not seek me out. Our time together is finished, though it barely began. We were never meant to be more than acquaintances, if that is even what we are. When I return what happened last night can _never_ happen again._

_Good-bye Draco._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

Draco crumpled the letter into a tight ball, and by the time it reached the fireplace it was gone, having burst into flames. He then went to his window and sat on the bench in front of it, his mind stretched and hazy. What _did_ he think of her letter, her decision?

"Daddy?"

He looked up and smiled.

"Where's mommy?"

His smile immediately morphed into a frown.

"She…She's gone."

* * *

I have no explanation for my slowness :( Forgive me:)

And **REVIEW**!!!!!!!!!!


	19. Deliver Her From…France?

Recap:

"Where's mommy?"

His smile immediately morphed into a frown.

"She…She's gone."

* * *

Chapter 19: Deliver Her From…France?

Flashback:

"_Go. Just _go_," Hermione said under her breath for what could very well have been the fifteenth time. She was pacing the cold tile bathroom floor, though the reason she wasn't still in the bedroom wasn't so Draco didn't wake up—because she'd cast a light sleeping spell on him—but to give herself some distance from him. "Leave now. This never has to happen again. It never has to be spoken of again. _Just go_!"_

_Finally finding her resolve, she slipped from the bathroom and went about retrieving the rest of her clothes. Once dressed, she took one more glance at Draco, then left him to his well-deserved rest. Her shoes and cloak were in the main foyer where she always left them; she put these on quickly and made it as far as the front steps before something pulled her back. Groaning with irritation, she went inside and headed straight for Draco's office and his overly expensive monogrammed stationary._

_She had to wipe her eyes at least six times before the note was complete. And she thanked Merlin none of her tears fell on the parchment. The last thing she needed was Draco to know she'd been crying over him. If he found out she didn't know what she would do. But how the hell else was she supposed to react to the end of whatever it was she and Draco had shared these passed few years? There was no doubt in her mind that she'd developed feelings for him, but just how much she wasn't prepared to think about or deal with. And that was precisely why she needed to get out of there. Besides, it wasn't as if Draco cared an ounce for her; all the sexual tension and intrigues had just been part of his game._

_But there was still one thing even she couldn't understand, no matter how much she thought about it. Why did it bother her to have these feelings for him when she knew what a good and noble man he'd become?_

_The evidence, as she'd so poignantly pointed out to Scrimgeour, was all in his penseive. For so long Draco's incarceration had kept her up at night with burning and unanswerable questions. But, even now, after they'd been answered, her heart simply couldn't let go of their past, their history; maybe there was something else too, but she couldn't say what. Here was a man who'd incriminated himself selflessly in order to protect his daughter—because if he was in Azkaban and Farsiris was safe with Hermione, then no one could use her to get to him, he would already be locked away—and _still_ her feet controlled her body and she found it difficult to keep them at bay long enough to write her note._

_That kind of chivalry was more than any woman could ask for in a man. And yet…Well, if she knew the rest of that thought then she wouldn't have a problem right now, would she?_

_Looking out the window, Hermione saw that dawn was far off and that if she was going to run as she planned, then she had to do it now before she thought too much more about it. She'd already made her decision; she wasn't going to go back on it now._

_They'd had their fun and now it was over. Simple as that. End of story._

_Unfortunately for Hermione, though, nothing with Draco was _ever_ simple._

End Flashback:

* * *

As promised, several long months later, Hermione arrived at the Manor—arms laden with gifts—for Farsiris' seventh birthday; she still couldn't believe she was _seven_ already. She figured that just walking in after having been gone for such a long time would be rude, so she knocked and waited. Besides, she didn't want to surprise Draco even if she had informed him what day she would be back.

Since the day she'd left, she had been staying with family friends in a small town in France, about 150km outside Paris. She had known the Pierponts as long as she'd been alive. They were muggles, yet they knew about her and the secret magical community she lived in; their son, Jean-Paul, was a wizard and lived in Paris with his wife and their twin daughters.

She'd felt bad calling upon the Pierponts at such sort notice, especially with the magnitude of her favor, but after the first week they'd convinced her she was more than welcome and that they very much enjoyed her company.

For the first month Hermione rarely left the house, paying her dues (that she felt was owed) by cooking and cleaning and things of that sort. It was a windy day exactly 37 days after her arrival that she received an owl. She had been minding her own business, washing some dishes in the kitchen, when the owl landed in the flowerbox outside, nearly scaring her into a fit. It tapped its beak a few times before Hermione regained her composure and opened the window. As she pulled the letter from the pouch on its leg with one hand, she absently reached for an owl treat in a jar on the counter with the other.

"Ouch!" Hermione hissed, glaring at the owl that had just nipped her wrist. "What—" But then she realized what it was telling her; the letter required a response before the irritated professional bird could leave. "Well give me a moment to read the damn thing," she huffed, then unrolled the yellow piece of parchment.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_What is this my parents tell me of your escape to their home? And they say you've been in France more than one month and I have yet to receive your salutations. All will be forgiven if you agree to have lunch with me this Sunday. Please send your reply with my carrier and I shall be to the house Sunday at promptly 11:45 to collect you._

_Yours Truly,_

_Jean-Paul __xoxo_

Hermione's stomach bottomed out. As young children, when she'd vacationed in France, she and Jean-Paul had sort of been a couple. But they were fourteen at the time, kids. And he was married now! Why then did he sign his name with x's and o's? True, they had that interlude a few months after the war, but that was well before his marriage and children. Besides, she wasn't even interested in him anymore, was she?

_No_, she affirmed, then scribbled a hasty note of reply to Jean-Paul, telling him that she would love to have lunch with him and catch up on old times. And, with his wife on her mind, Hermione had nothing to worry about.

Or so she thought.

Ten minutes into lunch and Hermione knew she was doomed.

"Jacqueline and I have been divorced nearly two years now," he told her, his eyes roaming her face for signs. "Most of the marriages right after the war didn't last half as long as Jacqueline and myself. We ended on tremendously great terms, though. I go out for drinks with her new husband on the weekends. It's a lovely arrangement."

"You might have mentioned the divorce in your letter, "Hermione said almost sternly. Though that wasn't the reason for her sudden cold demeanor—she didn't know how long she'd be able to resist him with that "dashing" accent of his. Not to say Hermione was weak or sexual crazed; it was different with Jean-Paul, they had a history. A very steamy history, if she remembered correctly. Moreover, the purpose of her trip was to escape her life, to escape Draco and hopefully to forget him in certain ways. And Jean-Paul was just the way to go about that.

"And spoil the fun of witnessing your reaction?" Jean-Paul chuckled. "Not a chance, Button."

"Oh Merlin," she sighed. "You know I can't stand that dreadful nickname."

"Don't blame me. You're the one who ate the buttons."

"Only because you changed my candies into them with your stupid prank. Is your magical system still so loose? Or can infants carry wands?"

Jean-Paul let out a full-on laugh at this, reaching his hand across the table to take hers. She resisted him at first, but the instant his lips touched the taught flesh of her knuckles, her resolve crumbled.

"Do you live nearby?" she whispered. True they'd already ordered, but she was in dyer need of getting Jean-Paul in bed so to get Draco off her mind. What better way to forget one man than to sleep with another? She was just glad it was Jean-Paul and not some random sleazy Frenchman in a run-down pub in Paris when she finally caved and for belligerently drunk.

"On one condition," she whispered back, his face so close to hers now that she could smell the sweet scent of the mint he'd been chewing twenty minutes before.

"Yes?"

"You let me make you breakfast tomorrow morning."

Hermione grinned ear to ear.

"Alright. But let me send your parents an owl before I forget. I don't want them to worry."

Over the next several months that she remained in France, Hermione saw Jean-Paul no less than fifteen times, each time feeling more guilty than the last. Not that she really had anything to feel guilty about—after all, she and Draco were never anything more than co-guardians—but somehow her conscience always found her at 3:00 in the morning in Jean-Paul's bathroom. She would cry for a good ten minutes, scold herself for being emotional and stupid, then wipe her face dry and slip back into bed before he noticed her absence.

Now, as she stood on the Manor's front porch and waited for someone to answer the door, she wondered if she would write Jean-Paul as she said she would.

"Granger."

Hermione's gaze shifted from the packages in her arms to Draco's dower expression. His cheeks shimmered slightly in the sunlight; he must have shaved less than an hour ago. She wanted to smile at that fact, and because his hair was long still and resting nicely on his shoulders, but she held herself back. Clearly he was not pleased to see her.

"Hello Draco. How are you?"

He grumbled a sarcastic, "Brilliant," then stepped aside to let her in.

"And Farsiris? How is she?"

"Well," he sighed for effect," considering all she's been through, the parent-switching, the worrying and crying, the disappearance of her guardians who either can't or don't contact her in their absence, I'd say she's doing remarkably well."

"And having an incarcerated, former-Death Eater father is any better?" she snapped back waspishly.

"I said guardian_s_, as in more than one. I'm not laying the blame on you, but you certainly chose to leave at the worst possible time."

"I apologize for that, it was wrong, but I had little choice."

"What?" he laughed mockingly. "Some top secret assignment in France?"

Hermione gasped before she could stop herself. Did that mean he knew about—

"Yes, I know about your foreign fuck friend. But what does that matter? We're mere acquaintances."

Her words. Used against her. She wanted to slap him. Better yet, she wanted to knee him in the groin.

"Please respect my privacy and stay out of my thoughts. What I do outside this home is none of your business."

"It is if it keeps you from being Farsiris' mother." He was now right in her face, his breath warm on her skin. "What the hell were you thinking, leaving like that? The child's been through enough! She's played Merry-Go-Fucking-Round with parents all her life. She does nor need it from _you_."

Hermione hung her head in submission and nodded.

"You're right."

"I am?" Never did he believe he'd hear those words from her mouth.

"Yes…I just…I don't know. It was all so overwhelming. I just needed to take a break from everything, get my head straight." She looked up and into Draco's eyes. "I should never have let my personal matters with you get in the way of being a mother. I'm sorry."

It took a minute for Draco to recover from shock, and when he did, he said only one thing:

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to."

* * *

It took some time, but by dinner Hermione and Farsiris were back to normal, tickling each other and giggling at everything and nothing. And soon after that Draco was as annoyed by them as he'd always been when they got together. But, somehow, it didn't really bother him now. So long as Farsiris was happy, he was happy, or at least as close to that emotion as a Malfoy was going to get. His daughter was the only exception to that rule, but then she'd been raised after the war, after the hateful were gone and their influence could not touch her.

History seemed to repeat itself when Hermione and Draco carried Farsiris upstairs to her bedroom, each of them giving her a kiss on the forehead before quietly leaving the room. Hermione, having left first, was nearly to the stairwell by the time Draco was in the corridor. He had to walk three times faster than normal to catch up with her. She wasn't fooling him; she was trying to slip out without another confrontation, but he wasn't about to let her, not after that irresponsible disappearance.

"Granger," he sighed, grabbing her by the elbow halfway down the stairs. "Where are you off to so fast? It's barely ten o'clock."

"I have back-work, Draco."

"How is that _my_ problem?"

"And how is where I'm going any of _your_ concern? I came here to be with my daughter, not you."

At this he released her, taking a step back. The expression on his face was completely unreadable, and instead of sticking around to figure him out, Hermione took her opportunity and rushed downstairs and in to the foyer. Her hand had only just touched the doorknob when Draco got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Farsiris needs a sibling," he said, the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth at that moment. What the hell was he getting at?

"What are you talking about?" she sighed; she was so tired of his comments and jabs and whatever else he could be up to right now. She was a grown woman, for Merlin's sake, and she did not need to put up with this.

"Farsiris could use a brother or sister, a child close to her age. She can't very well grow up with only adults."

"That's what school is for."

"She won't be in school for years."

"Just tell me what you're getting at so I can be on my way. I have a lot of work, as I told you already."

Instead of answering, Draco came towards her, gently taking her hand from the door handle, holding it in his. He pulled her towards him slowly, giving her plenty of time to get away; she didn't resist and in her head she was kicking herself.

"Have my baby," he whispered, his lips nearly touching her neck, just below her ear.

She was almost too stunned for a moment to answer.

"_Excuse me_?" she balked, shoving him back. "Are you _insane_! You know I can't have children! How _dare_ you say such a thing to me!"

She slapped him hard across the face, then turned and stormed out the door. Draco doubted she would speak to him for months.

* * *

"You must be joking," Ron said, his arm draped over Luna's shoulder; they sat across from Hermione, Harry and Ginny at the table in the restaurant they'd come to tonight. They were semi-celebrating Hermione's return to England, but things had gone decidedly sour the moment Ginny harmlessly asked her how she was.

"I thought he was trying to annoy me as usual," Hermione half-sighed, half-groaned. "But, all last night, I kept thinking about it, and the look on his face made him seem so serious. I…I think he might have been genuine."

"Come now Hermione," Harry said, patting her leg in a fatherly way. "Even if he somehow _was_ serious, it's still an awfully rude thing to suggest to a woman who…a woman that cannot—"

"I follow you," she interrupted, giving him a fake smile in an effort to muster a real one. "But…the thing is…I…I really do want a child of my own."

The group gasped collectively and appropriately, and everyone wanted to talk at once. They knew she'd been through a great deal in the last few years, but this was just too much. It was one thing for her to take custody of Draco's daughter, it was another thing entirely to _procreate_ with him. That meant intercourse, touching, kissing, embracing; and none of them wanted to imagine their sweet little Hermione in bed with a barbarian like Draco Malfoy. They could admit he'd changed, they could accept him as their colleague, but there was _no way_ they would allow him to use their best friend in such a way. It was unthinkable!

"Wait!" Hermione cried as all her friends vied for a place on the soapbox. "Please, just hear me out."

They were silent and so she continued immediately. Who knew how long it would last.

"I know it's dangerous, for a multitude of reasons, but I've already lost one child and I survived. I know the risks, but I am willing to face them to bring a child into this world that we all fought for so long to keep safe. I mean, wasn't that the purpose of the war? To create a better world for future generations?"

"Excuse me, Hermione," Ron cut in carefully. "But, as much as we're concerned for your physical health, we also care about _who_ you plan to father this baby." He looked around the table for support from the others; they nodded solemnly, none save Luna looked at her.

"He has proven himself to me," Hermione bit, crossing her arms over her chest. "As far as I'm concerned that's good enough." She stood from the table and snatched up her cloak and purse. "I wish I had all your support on this, but I suppose _some things_ are more for wishing than having."

The instant she was outside her eyes rushed with salty tears and she broke down on a bench a few blocks away from the restaurant. That had gone just horribly wrong, completely disastrous. She had gone there planning to simply discuss the situation with her friends, for she didn't have a decision on her own. But she'd been wrong and she knew that now. She'd made her decision before ever stepping foot in that restaurant.

She only hoped her blow-up last night hadn't tainted the offer.

* * *

"Back to berate me some more?"

Hermione lunged at Draco so fast they both went stumbling backwards and she landed on top on him, his back pressed against the bottom of the staircase. She released him from her vice-like kiss, then sat back and grinned, beaming down at him.

"Not exactly."

* * *

So there you have it! Chapter 19! And in record time, haha!

**REVIEW!!!**


	20. The Name Game

Recap:

"Back to berate me some more?"

Hermione lunged at Draco so fast they both went stumbling backwards and she landed on top on him, his back pressed against the bottom of the staircase. She released him from her vice-like kiss, then sat back and grinned, beaming down at him.

"Not exactly."

* * *

Chapter 20: The Name Game

"Three months," Hermione groaned as Draco ushered her out of the carriage in the middle of bustling downtown London. Across the street, standing outside the mannequin shop where St. Mungo's was, stood Ginny, waving excitedly. "Three months we've been trying this and nothing has worked. I'm tired of seeing healers, Draco. Can't we—"

"Do you want a baby or not?" he snapped; of course he was growing frustrated and exhausted too, but then that's what parenthood was like, and he'd accepted that. Why had women been so much easier to deal with during the war?

Hermione remained quiet until they reached Ginny on the opposite sidewalk.

"Still no Potter." It was not a question; Ginny nodded solemnly, then took Hermione from Draco, wrapping her arm around her shoulder as his had been a moment ago. "And that git wanted to take my child from me?" he spat.

"He'll come around," Hermione said, confident in her friend as she'd ever been. "I mean, he's not nearly as hot-headed as Ron and Ron brought me baby gifts last night."

"He _what_?" Draco demanded, stepping in front of the girls; they were now inside the hospital, and all eyes were on them. Not because it was odd to see the three of them, for they'd come by the hospital several times a month for the past three months, but because Draco was shouting at them, when usually it was Hermione whose voice was raised.

"He brought blankets and toys and things for the baby. What's the big deal?"

"I have plenty of 'baby things' at the Manor, Granger. And he has no right—"

"Don't you dare start with this 'right' stuff of yours Draco Malfoy," Hermione warned. "_We_ are not a couple, and Ron is happily engaged to Luna. You have no 'territory' to protect. And, furthermore, if we were together by the grace of God I would _never_ allow you to control my life in such a way."

By the time they'd reached the front desk both Draco and Hermione's faces were pink with anger. The healer that attended them ignored this, for it was common, and instead gestured for them to go on to their usual room.

"Back again?" their usual healer laughed, a man by the name of Julian Marx. "My favorite rabbits."

"Not today, Julian," Ginny warned in a whisper with the hint of a giggle behind her voice. "They've been at it again."

"I should think so," he laughed under his breath, then put on a serious face and approached Hermione, who was already sitting on the examining table, and Draco, who stood protectively beside her. For two people who were not romantically involved, Draco certainly acted as though she were his to protect. "Alright then, Miss Granger. How are you feeling this afternoon?"

"I'm doing just swimmingly," she hissed; mood swings. Even though she hadn't been able to get pregnant yet, she was still going through them; a phenomenon none understood, but all respected. "Now can you do the damn test so I can get this wanker away from me for a couple of days?"

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Julian stepped in, wand at the ready, and began the spell that would determine if Hermione was pregnant or not. Logically, Hermione should have been praising her healer, for out of all others in Britain he was the only one prepared to aid her once she was able to get pregnant; hers being such a risky case, no one wanted the blame if anything should go wrong. Julian, however, was an old family friend of the Weasleys, and so happy to help someone Molly considered "one of her daughters".

"Merlin," he whispered, stepping back after the typical four and a half minutes. "Merlin, she's pregnant."

Hermione and Draco looked at each other, then up at their healer, then back at each other again. If this was a joke, then God bless Julian, he was going to die.

"A-Are you certain?" Hermione whispered.

"Positive."

Without warning, she sprang from the table and toppled Julian into the nearest wall, giving him a rough kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Before Draco could react—i.e. pommel the healer for Hermione's actions—she lunged at him too, covering his entire face with kisses, finally ending on his lips. Ginny actually let out a gasp, for never before had she seen them so an ounce of affection towards one another until that moment. Of course she knew that sort of thing happened between them, because how else would they make a child? But to actually see it was a totally different experience. "And thank you," she whispered, and captured his lips once more.

* * *

The group left the hospital an hour later, with specific instructions as to how Hermione should be cared for and how she should care for herself. She was also told that, no matter what her schedule or plans, that she was to report to St. Mungo's twice a week for check-ups. Of course this was not normal procedure for a pregnant woman, but Hermione's case was severely different. One wrong thing and they could lose her as well as the child she now carried.

"Can you give Harry this note for me, Gin?"

"Of course," her best friend said with a sad smile, then embraced her before she climbed into a separate carriage and was gone.

"Hermione?"

She turned from the window, nearly startled when she saw how serious Draco looked. She didn't know if she wanted to hear what he had to saw with a look like that on his face.

"Yes?"

"Move into the Manor."

"Draco, we've discussed this. I can take care—"

"I know," he sighed, irritated. "I know you can care for yourself, but what if something happens and you're unable to get to St. Mungo's?"

"Draco—"

"Do you really want me checking in on you every day? Don't make me come into Muggle London. You know how much I hate it."

Hermione let out a great sigh, then nodded, conceding.

"But I'm moving out once the baby comes, alright? I can't live there forever, Draco, it's not going to work."

"Very well," he said, straightening up; his facial expression had returned to its normal placidness. "I will come by your flat—"

"Don't bother," she interrupted him. "I'll owl Ginny tonight and she and Ron can help me bring my things over."

"Granger."

"No. You're not getting your way this time, Mr. Malfoy."

The carriage came to a halt and Hermione climbed out, Draco holding the back of her robes as she went. She wanted to smack him for being so over-protective so soon, but figured there was nothing she could do or say, and besides, it would only make him worse in the long run. She would have to endure this for nine months, and, hopefully, after that he would get better. Hopefully.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, leaning up on her tie-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "And don't you dare hound me; I'll be by at whatever time I wish. And certainly in time for supper. Is that understood?"

Draco nodded, glaring heatedly at her.

"What?"

"You're pregnant," he said, as if she wasn't aware of that fact.

"And?"

"My work's done."

Hermione laughed and patted his knee, which was at eye-level to her, then shut the carriage door. But not before whispering a sultry, "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

She was already inside the building by the time her words registered.

"Women," he muttered, though for the life of him he could not keep himself from smiling.

* * *

Draco released his innocent strands of hair from his angry fists, dropping them to his sides in an effort to keep from screaming, which would subsequently wake Farsiris, who he had only just got into bed after two hours of "daddying" her way out of it. Needless to say, he was beyond frustrated.

"For the last time, Granger, we are _not_ naming our child after one of your dead muggle relatives! What sort of outrageous name is _Brian_ anyway?"

"Well then I don't know what to tell you?" Hermione hissed, sticking her hands on her hips in a very Molly Weasley way. "Because no baby of mine is going to have a name like Abraxas or Morag or Gondoline or any of the other _insane_ names you people in the wizarding world come up with for your children. My baby is _not_ going to have the same name as something you scream when you stub your toe!"

"Look Granger," he sighed, his headache having now reached the point where his brain was trying to creep out of every available hole in his head. "Let's just agree to not talk baby names until we know what the damn sex is, alright?"

"Fine."

"Ok," he said, thankful that at least this argument was on hold for now, then turned to leave.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"I thought we—"

She silenced him by grabbing his collar and forcing her lips on his.

"I haven't been alone with you in over a week because of your job. Now I'm going to go change, and I expect you to be in your room when I'm finished."

The thing about Draco and Hermione's "relationship" was that, even though they weren't a couple, they still argued like one, still slept together like one, and, of course, they lived together and were raising a family. Neither of them saw this as odd, though everyone else certainly had something to say about it when the non-couple wasn't within earshot. Hermione's friends, Harry included, accepted this arrangement she had with Malfoy nonetheless. Because she was their friend, and because, bless her heart, she was going to do whatever she wanted and so if they wanted her to be okay then they were going to have to give their support, whether they believed she was doing the right thing or not. Harry still gave snide remarks under his breath, but they were becoming fewer and farther between now that Hermione began to show. He still wouldn't look Draco in the eye, but, as long as he was talking to her, then Hermione was just fine with that. She and Harry and Farsiris went out to lunch or the movies or some other fun thing at least once every two weeks, if not once a week. Draco was by no means a fan of this, but, for his daughter, he would endure anything.

"Doesn't this bother you?" Hermione asked as she and Draco lay in bed beside one another, their bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat, their hearts not quite back to their normal rhythm just yet.

"What?" he yawned, sliding down so that he could rest his head on the bump that was their child-to-be. Even though he'd already been through this process with Kanika, it hadn't been the same then. There was a war going on, and he was a completely different person up until the first moment he laid eyes on Farsiris. Never once had he so much as touched his late wife's pregnant belly; back then it simply wasn't something he was required to do, and certainly not something he wanted to do, or believed he wanted to do.

"Us. I mean, we're not together and yet…Well, look at us."

Draco lifted his head as if to survey the situation, then set it back on her plump belly and sighed.

"I wouldn't kid yourself about this much longer, Granger."

"And just what is _that_ supposed to imply?" She shoved him away and scurried out of bed.

"Just what you said, you insane harpy! _Look at us_. You and I aren't the only ones that have notice. Dense as they are, your inane friends Potter and Weasley can see just how strange our set-up is. Face it—we _are_ a couple."

Hermione's face contorted into a look that could only be described as horrified. Then she took several steps back, not stopping until she was beside the door and had a firm grip on the handle, ready to bolt at any moment.

"We most certainly are _not_. Why, in Merlin's name, would you even _think_ such a preposterous thing? I can't stand you!"

"Join the club," he muttered, shaking his head. "But I've come to terms with it, so I think it's about time you did as well. How long are we going to dance around it until you finally admit it to yourself? For Merlin's sake, Granger, _I_ know it's ridiculous, as does everyone else. But isn't the fact that we're having a baby together just as ridiculous?"

This little speech proved to be just the thing that could keep Hermione in the room. Not because she believed anything he'd said, or would allow herself to, but because it scared her so deeply that she was frozen stiff. Her life had changed so drastically and she'd been so caught up in living it that she hadn't stopped to realize just what she'd been doing and with whom. And now it was _so different_ that there was no possible way of going back.

Draco took this opportunity to climb off the bed and go to Hermione. He took her wrists gently and escorted her back to the bed, pushing down on her arms to get her to sit. But instead of sitting beside her, or simply standing there, he kneeled before her and looked up into her eyes. This only proved to shock her even more and she began to gasp wildly.

"Get a hold of yourself, Granger," he commanded as if he were a schoolteacher trying to get a student to stop crying over a scraped knee. "Now I'm only going to say this once, because Merlin knows I won't be able to do it ever again. And, no matter what you say in return, this is the only time _I_ will breech the subject. After that, it's all on you. Understand?"

With no voice in her throat, she nodded.

Draco smiled as best as he could in this situation, then reached into the top drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a small velvet box.

"Hermione Granger," he said, his voice steady; ever the well-breed of high society. "Marry me."

* * *

"He asked you to marry him?" Ginny asked slowly, careful not to either upset her or get her facts wrong. That, and she was still recovering from being shaken awake at two in the morning by her very hysterical and very pregnant best friend. "And what did you say?"

"No, of course," Hermione scoffed, offended. She was sitting on a couch cushion in the middle of Ginny and Harry's kitchen, a mug of tea held captive in her vice-like grip. Harry would have been out there, too, but Ginny warned him that Hermione needed "girl talk" and banished him to the bedroom where he would have to suffice with eavesdropping. "Why on earth would I say yes?"

"I…I don't know," she said with a shrug. She was beyond confused. "What did he say when you turned him down?"

"He…Uh, he asked me if I loved him. Can you believe the nerve? He's such a git, it's unbelievable!"

"What—"

"I said, 'No,' Gin. And then I left." Ginny's eyes widened. "Don't worry, he won't come storming in here on a rampage looking for me. He knows when to keep his distance."

"Hermione?"

She looked up from her untouched tea. "Hmm?"

"D-Do you love him?"

There was absolutely no hesitation; and it was the last thing Ginny expected to hear.

"Well yes!" she sighed, exasperated, almost angrily. "Why the hell else do you think I put up with all his shit these past years? I'm not a masochist…But I'll be damned if I let _him_ know that. He already has enough to hang over my head; I don't need to give him anymore ammo."

"Did you ever stop to think about _why_ he asked you to marry him?"

"Of course. He wants a stable environment for Farsiris and the new baby to grow up in."

"True," Ginny sighed, a little annoyed that the smartest witch she'd ever known was this dense when it came to men. "But what if there was another reason?"

"Such as?"

"What if he loves you too?"

Hermione let out a snort of a laugh.

"I'm serious. It's not _that_ far fetched."

"Loving his child is one thing, Gin. Loving another person romantically…Well, that is just never going to happen. He's a Malfoy, and Mafloy's don't love."

"Are you so sure about that?"

"Do you think I _want_ to be miserable on purpose?"

Ginny chuckled softly, sadly, and gave Hermione's shoulder a friendly squeeze.

"Sometimes, 'Mione, I don't know." She reached down and took Hermione's cold tea, setting the cup on the counter, then leaned down again and helped her ever-growing friend to her feet. "You love him," she said, holding Hermione's face in her hands. "You love him and you want to be with him. What on earth is stopping you?"

Hermione gasped in the beginnings of a sob and cast her eyes at the floor.

"B-Because," she whispered, doing all in her power to keep the tears from coming. "I…I can't let him hurt me. Not again. Not with a baby on the way."

"But what if I'm right? What if he loves you too?"

"Gin—"

"I'm serious, Hermione." She lifted her chin, forcing her to make eye contact. "What if I am?"

This, apparently, was the final straw and Hermione burst into a fit of tears, collapsing in Ginny's arms. A moment later Harry rushed out, his eyes frantic and ready to either help or kill (depending on what Malfoy did).

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Harry, please. Give us—"

"If Malfoy hurt her in any way—"

"He didn't," Hermione sniffled into Ginny's shoulder. "He…It's not him, Harry, it's me."

"What's wrong?"

"I…I love him."

* * *

Oooo! What a nasty way for me to end this chapter, heehee! But you have to admit, I did get a lot of ground covered, huh?

**REVIEW!!**


	21. Welcome

Recap:

"He didn't," Hermione sniffled into Ginny's shoulder. "He…It's not him, Harry, it's me."

"What's wrong?"

"I…I love him."

* * *

Chapter 21: Welcome

For the first time since the entire ordeal with Draco had started, Hermione requested that Ginny was _not_ a part of the conversation and asked Harry to escort her on a walk around the block. He agreed, of course, though he felt guilty for having to leave his fiancé behind.

"I know this is weird," were Hermione's first words when they got outside. "But, I don't know, I just think you would understand better what I need to discuss."

"I really don't see how," Harry said honestly. "I mean, I'm sorry 'Mione, but I haven't the faintest idea of how to talk about Malfoy with you. He's _Malfoy_, our childhood enemy. I _still_ don't understand how all of this happened."

"Believe me, Harry, I don't understand it as much as you. That's why I need you now more than ever. I…I just don't know what to do and I'm terrified. I mean," she sighed, coughing back some tears; Harry put his arm around her shoulders as they walked on. "I've always been the smart one, you know? Always had the answer, always knew what was right. But now, I don't know…I just…I have _no clue_ where I'm going to land with this one and I've never been more scared in my life." She laughed a little after this and added, "I'd gladly take Voldemort again if it meant never having to go through _this_."

Harry only nodded, though he really didn't know what she meant by that. For now, he was going to have to listen and assess the situation before he said anything rash or irrevocable.

"Do you remember how you felt when you realized you were in love with Ginny?"

He gave her a questioning look, but answered nonetheless.

"Of course. I was angry."

Hermione smiled as if this were the answer she'd been hoping to hear. And while Harry was skeptical, he said nothing.

"Why angry?"

Was it just him or did this seem like a meeting with a shrink? All that was missing was the key question—"and how does that make you feel?"

"Because she was with someone else at the time," he answered with a prominent frown, as though this was still an obstacle to overcome in order to have Ginny. "That, and she's Ron's kid sister. I didn't want to ruin our friendship, but—"

"You couldn't help the way you felt?"

"Exactly," he sighed, a great weight seeming to lift off his shoulders. "What do my feelings for Ginny have to do with Malfoy?"

Hermione arched her eyebrow at him, suggesting that he already knew the answer to his own question. And then he realized he did.

"Oh…I suppose I understand, but…Hermione, you have to admit this is _very_ different from Ginny and I. I mean, Malfoy is…he's…he's Malfoy!"

"Yes," she said patiently. Her eyes had dried some time ago and she was mostly back to her old self. Of course she was upset, but then that's why they were out there, walking around. "A fact you all continue to remind me of. He can't very well change his origins, Harry. And what he _can_ change, he already has."

Harry furrowed his brow and curled his lip, indicating that he found her assessment to be disagreeable. But then _everything_ pertaining to Malfoy and her Harry disagreed with. He was making an effort to see things from another perspective, and she knew that, but as circumstances stood now there was no chance she'd even _consider_ Draco's proposal without Harry's approval. There were other facts, of course, but none more important than him. And perhaps Ron, but as of now he knew nothing of Draco's request and therefore had no opinion on the matter.

"I want you and Ron to do me a favor."

Harry groaned in a low tone, sounding as though he were trying to hide it, which he most certainly was not.

"As you know, this pregnancy is extremely stressful on me, and those around me, for a number of reasons. But throughout it all of you have been so supportive." She paused here and took Harry's hand. "Now I realize this isn't the best situation. Hell! It's _the worst_ possible way I can imagine to start a family, but…it is what it is, and I've accepted that. Draco is a permanent part of our lives. And, despite the fact that I've come to love him—" She ignored Harry's sour expression. "—I honestly don't want this either. Not this way."

Harry stopped dead, pulling Hermione to a halt with him.

"What?"

"Love isn't as simple as you think, Harry. You and Ginny are in love _and_ meant to be together. Sometimes people only get half that. In my case," she sighed, "even less."

"Wait. What does that mean? Even less?"

"Harry," she laughed, though her eyes showed her despair. "Draco doesn't love me."

Now he looked utterly confused, as if Hermione had just told him he'd been asleep all his life and everything he's ever experienced was one continuous dream. He let go of her hand and placed his on her shoulder.

"What are you talking about?" he asked in all seriousness. "_Everyone_ knows he loves you. Why the hell do you think I'm so bothered by all this?"

"Excuse me?" Now it was her turn to be confused.

"He loves you back, so now you two are going to get married and have a family and…Well…I don't think he deserves you. I don't think there's a man alive who could meet my standards for you," he said this last sentence playfully and she understood what he meant. He was only looking out for her. "But _definitely _not Malfoy. That," he added quickly, "and I'll miss the hell out of you."

Hermione smiled at this last part.

"Harry, even if that were true—which it's not—my having a family at the Manor won't interfere with my life with you and everyone else. I mean, I don't give a damn what Draco thinks; I'll set you all up in guest rooms if I so please."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"I wouldn't worry about it. Like I said, he doesn't love me."

"I'd make sure of that first. Now, what was the favor you wanted of me and Ron?" The conversation about Draco and Hermione was beginning to make him uncomfortable and so he sought refuge in a place he thought he'd be safe from it.

"Oh! I nearly forgot," she laughed, then took up walking again. It was always easier for her to get things out if she walked around. And if the other person happened to be stationary, then she'd pace, or walk circles around them. She'd been told more than once to "just stand still already!". "It's sort of a _big_ favor."

"You know I'd do anything to help you, Hermione. What is it?"

"Will you…Will you spend…some time with Draco? Get to know him?" She hushed Harry with a raised palm so she could continue. "I know it's a lot, but it'd really help me out. If you three can get along then us having a baby together will be all the more easy. I mean, you'll be his or her uncles."

Harry groaned loudly this time.

"If you think it'll help," he bit, shaking his head. "But he better not provoke me."

"Don't worry," she beamed, her other problems forgotten for a moment. She would deal with the marriage issue later. After all, he did say it was "up to her". She could take all the time she needed. "I'll make sure he behaves. I am carrying his child, you know. Plus, if he does anything, you have my permission to hex him."

Harry's frown spun upwards into a grin so fast she wondered how he didn't get a head-rush.

"I said _hex_. Not curse. This is the man I love, remember?"

"Wow," Harry said, running his hand over his mouth. "I…I just can't get a hold on any of this. Hermione, you are _in love_ with Draco Malfoy. Love. Doesn't that bother you?"

"More than when he used to call me a mudblood."

* * *

"Do you remember," Hermione asked, her head resting on Draco's chest as they laid in bed, "the time I slapped you across the face?"

Draco chuckled softly and murmured a yes.

"How did we get from there to this?"

"Your guess is as good as any," he answered, one of his hands absently stroking her hair.

Two weeks had passed since Draco's proposal and, as promised, he had yet to bring it up, even in passing. The ring—a gorgeous piece of jewelry that consisted of an elegant silver band that twists up at the top, caging a single black pearl—still sat in the drawer beside the bed. Hermione often took it out to look at when Draco wasn't home, wondering—but never asking—why there was a black pearl instead of a diamond or some other stone. She wasn't complaining, though, because she thought it was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen and, had she accepted the engagement, would have been honored to wear it. Once or twice she'd taken it from it's box, but never could bring herself to actually put it on, only going so far as having the ring hover around her fingertip. There was just something about it that wouldn't allow her to enjoy the ring or the thought that went behind it.

Their relationship was as strange and stagnant as ever. She was still convinced that they weren't a couple, knowing that Draco still believed they were. She made it a point many times to say things like, "After the baby's born I'm going to need to buy new clothes when I start dating again." Draco brushed these comments off, not really giving them much thought. He wasn't the sort of person to ponder matters such as this. Things either were or they weren't, end of story.

Ginny and Harry—though mostly Ginny—had several more conversations with Hermione concerning the proposal and what that meant. They believed, now more than ever, that Draco did love her and that if she truly loved him back then she should accept the proposal. Harry was reluctant to admit this, but eventually agreed.

"All I want is to see you happy," he'd told her, smiling almost sadly, because he knew that if she didn't see Draco's love for her and didn't marry him, then she would be unhappy for the rest of her life, regardless of how many children she had. He'd always thought of Hermione as being married at twenty to the love of her life. Obviously the war and other like things had prevented this, but also it was due to the fact that she'd never found that perfect person. Until Draco. It was a hard pill for Harry to swallow, but, for Hermione, he would do anything.

Ron was less tolerant of the marriage than Harry, but he too accepted the idea in time. He would always have love for Hermione in his heart, but, as he saw it, he was happy with Luna and thought Hermione deserved the same, no matter who with.

"You already have two kids together," he'd said one evening at dinner. "Isn't marriage the next step?"

So it seemed that everyone _but _Hermione was for the proposal. By the time she'd reached her seventh month of pregnancy, her hormones and emotions were running so high that she broke down and cried in Harry's arms.

"But what if he doesn't love me?" she sobbed, wiping frustratedly at her tears. "I know you and Ginny and everyone under the sun thinks he does, but what if you're wrong? How am I supposed to be married to a man that doesn't love me as much as I love him? Harry, how am I supposed to do that? Could you do it? Could you—"

"Shh, shh, shhhh," he whispered, rocking her back and forth as she sat cradled in his arms. "I could talk to him."

"NO!" She jumped up so fast that Harry toppled over. "NO! Please don't do that! Please, Harry. As my best friend—"

"I won't," he sighed. "I promise."

"Thank you," she breathed, sitting back on the couch beside him. "Thank you."

Harry put his arm around her, pulling her against him so she couldn't see the disappointed look on his face. Now he was going to have to come up with a Plan B.

* * *

"FUUUUCK!" Hermione screamed, squeezing Draco and Harry's hands so hard that both men had to hold their breath to keep from shouting in pain. Her water had broken twenty minutes ago and they were just now getting to the hospital. Ron and Ginny were on owl and Apparation duty, rounding up friends and family for the birth. Farsiris was with them.

"We need Julian Marx!" Draco demanded of the witch at the atrium desk. "My—She's having my baby!"

Within five minutes Julian Marx was there and Hermione was on her way to delivery. Because of the complicated nature of the pregnancy and therefore the complicated nature of the birth, only healers and Draco were allowed in the room.

"I…can't…do…this…" Hermione huffed between stunted, painful breaths. "Draco, I can't. It…hurts. It hurts so much."

"Shh," he whispered, stroking her hair the way he usually did when they were lying together in bed. He figured the familiar was the most comforting thing he could offer her right now, considering there was little else he could give her. "It's only one day," he reminded her. "The baby—" For they hadn't wanted to know the sex until birth. "—will be here soon and—Ahhhhh!" he cried out, having just been punched hard in the jaw by the very woman he'd been trying to console.

"Don't you dare say that to me! This was all _your_ idea!"

"Hermione," Julian said, grabbing her attention, along with everyone else's. "You're going to have to push now. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do for the pain. Any spells or potions we use could have negative effects on the delivery."

"I…I'm ready," she breathed, grabbing the bed sheets with one hand and Draco's hand with the other.

"Ok…Push…Good, good…And again…You're doing wonderful. You—Damn it! Marie, grab the gauze, she's bleeding. Hurry!"

"Wh…What's…happening?" Hermione whispered, all of a sudden feeling dizzy and as if she were going to faint. "D-Draco?…"

"What's going on!" he demanded, his entire body shaking at the sight of the blood on the foot of the bed. "Why is she bleeding!"

"Draco," Julian warned, not even looking up at him. "You're going to need to calm down. Hysteria will not help your situation."

"Draco?" Hermione's voice was fading fast.

"Yes?"

"I…I love you."

He wasn't able to respond, or even fully process what she'd just said, when all of a sudden he was being rushed to the outside of the room and away from Hermione, who had just fainted.

"What happened! Is she alright! What the hell—"

"I will not tell you again!" Julian shouted. "Calm yourself, Draco, or you will be escorted out of the room!"

Three hours, fourteen minutes, and several pints of blood later, and Draco and Hermione's perfectly healthy baby boy was born. She wasn't able to hold or even see her son until much later, because immediately following the birth she was rushed to another room so that the healers could repair the damage done to her body. She'd lost a lot of blood and her strength was comparable to a butterfly, but for the most part she was just fine.

"He has Hermione's dark hair," Ginny commented, her first Godchild cradled lovingly in her arms. Hermione still wasn't back yet, and so the room was full of her family and friends, making Draco feel a little more than anxious. He hadn't thought about this when he'd asked Hermione to have a baby with him. "Draco, he's gorgeous."

Draco didn't know what to say or do, and so he said, "I'm going to check on Hermione. She's probably almost ready to come back."

"He couldn't wait to get out of here and away from us," Ron snorted as Ginny handed the unnamed baby to him. "What does he think will happen if Hermione decided to marry him? We're not going anywhere."

"Well what do you expect?" Luna said, shaking her head. "We don't treat him so well. He probably thinks we don't approve of him and Hermione's relationship."

"The only person who doesn't approve of it is Hermione," Ginny pointed out. "But Luna is right. We do sort of ignore him."

"Hey!" Ron stammered. "Harry and I have to hang out with the prat every month!"

"Exactly," Luna said. "Have to."

"Well what do you expect? He—" But before he could finish his sentence the door swung open and in came Hermione, being pushed carefully in a wheelchair by Draco. Farsiris was right behind them, her eyes trained on her new brother.

"How do you feel?" Harry asked.

"Weak," she said in a low voice, her throat sore from all the screaming. "Where's my son?"

Ron immediately brought the tiny baby boy to her, laying him gently in her arms.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

"What? What's wrong?" Draco asked, already protective.

"I love him so much…Issa, sweety. Come say hello to your baby brother."

Farsiris stepped up to the wheelchair, reaching her small had out to touch his even smaller hands.

"He's so tiny," she commented. "Hello brother. I'm your big sister, Issa." She then looked up at Hermione, then at her father and said, "What's he called?"

"Well," Draco began, but was cut off.

"Tarquin," Hermione answered. "Tarquin Patrick Malfoy."

"Tarquin? But that's—"

"One of your ancestors names, I know. And Patrick is my late uncle's name. But I think it fits him."

Draco looked down at his son and smiled.

"I think you're right."

* * *

I wasn't planning on having the birth in this chapter, but I think this story is coming to a close and so I decided to put it in and speed things up a little. There's still the conclusion to come, one or two more chapters should do it. So look for them!

As always, **REVIEW!**


	22. Aftermath

Recap:

Draco looked down at his son and smiled.

"I think you're right."

* * *

Chapter 22: Aftermath

Draco yanked open the front door, as if it were the cause of his disquiet, a set glare for the person on the other side. One would think they were unwelcome when in fact it had been him who sent the owl and request. Ginny stepped into the foyer, removed her cloak, then hung it on the wall and turned to him, her eyes asking what her mouth did not.

"She's been crying for four hours straight," he groaned, gesturing down the hall. "She's in the library so she doesn't wake Tarquin."

"What's the matter?" she asked, already making for the massive book-lined room. "She's not— "

"No, it's not depression," he answered, cutting her off. "She...Well, you'll see."

They walked briskly down the painting-lined, rug-strewn corridor until they reached the second to last room on the right. Two large wooden doors with ornate ornamentation closed off the library and behind them Ginny could hear the faint whimper of a sobbing woman. She opened the doors without another moment's hesitation.

"Oh Ginny!" Hermione cried, flying from the floor where she'd been sitting, her blanket falling off her shoulders. Ginny didn't know whether she was truly that upset, surprised at her appearance, or Draco had told her she'd been sent for. Either way, she was having more than a little difficulty holding up the much heavier woman (for she had only had the baby two weeks before). "Ginny, I'm a terrible mother!"

She looked over her shoulder to Draco for an explanation. He only rolled his eyes and made a gesture as if to say, "See what I have to deal with?"

"Why do you think you're a terrible mother?" she asked cautiously.

"I can't even change his diaper properly!" Hermione wailed, clutching her best friend's shoulder even tighter. "Draco had to do it. Draco has done _everything_ for him! I can't do this, Gin, I can't! How can I raise my baby when I can't even—"

"You're just new at it," Ginny said, stroking her back as if she really believed it would make a difference. "These things take time, sweety. I'm sure I'll have the same troubles once Harry and I have children."

"That's exactly what _I_ told her. She won't listen to a word I say," Draco growled, crossing his arms childishly across his chest.

"But why can _you_ do it!" Hermione screaming, flinging herself off of Ginny and brandishing an accusatory finger at the father of her child.

"I've been a father for eight years! I've done it all, woman! Why can't you understand that! You're the most brilliant fucking witch I've ever met and you can't see that it takes _time_ to get the hang of this!"

The room went graveyard-silent. Both girls' eyes were trained on Draco, their expressions unreadable. He didn't know what they were capable of, but he made no move to leave or take back what he'd said. After all, it was only true. Harsh and said in anger, but true.

The silence ticked on for a full minute.

And then Hermione rushed forward, slamming Draco hard into the nearest bookshelf. Ginny was about to intervene, when she saw what Hermione did next. She kissed him full on the mouth, the sort of kiss that the receiver cannot ignore, filled with passion, love and urgency. Harry had kissed her that way countless times.

"You really think I'm brilliant?"

He rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless.

"Umm...I should be going," Ginny said, feeling suddenly out-of-place. "Send me an owl about lunch, 'Mione." And then she was gone.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione whispered, because she still hadn't moved back to her old flat yet, though neither saw fit to breech the subject, then she too was gone.

Draco stared at the space she had occupied only moments ago, a hard, cold sensation toying with his innards. He had been so sure—two weeks prior, when she'd confessed her love to him in the delivery room—that she was going to accept his proposal soon. And while that kiss confirmed what she'd said in the hospital, he wondered if she would ever want to be with him. Because if loving him wasn't enough, then what was?

* * *

"What's the diagnosis, doc?" Hermione asked, kicking her legs out like a child, her hands clutched in her lap. It made Julian want to give her a lollipop and a pat on the head. He hadn't seen her this happy since Tarquin was born.

"You've recovered brilliantly, Hermione," he said, offering her his hands to help her off the examination table. "In fact, I'm surprised you've become this healthy this quickly. Draco must be taking excellent care of you."

Her smile faltered a little at the mention of Draco's name.

"I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to bruise your happiness. I was enjoying that smile of yours."

"No, it's fine Julian," she sighed as she walked behind the screen to change back into her clothes. "You didn't say anything...It's just...You know how things are with me and Draco. And on top of that me not being able to care for Tarquin the way I want to...Well, until last week...I just...I realized during an argument we were having that maybe he did care for me as much as I do for him, like everyone's been saying all along, but I shut him down and I keep jabbing at him that we'll never be married—so how am I supposed to tell him I _do_ want to marry him, that I've loved him for so long and so much I'm hallow inside at the thought we won't be together this way forever? How can I tell him this when he's seen what a coward I've been? Julian...What if he doesn't want to marry me anymore?"

Julian came forward and took Hermione's face in his hands, locking their eyes together.

"Hermione, there is no possible way Draco will _ever_ not want to marry you. Understand?"

She nodded, not because she agreed, but because she knew that's what he required before he let her leave.

"Then go," he laughed, dropping his hands. "I expect my invitation to the wedding within the month."

* * *

"You're such a great father," Hermione mused from her seat in the rocking chair, where she had just been breast-feeding Tarquin. Draco, standing several feet away, was changing their son before setting him down to sleep.

"Kanika was surprised too," he said, not turning to look at her. "Though I suppose I don't really give off the 'father-of-the-year' vibe, huh?"

Hermione was too shocked by his obvious attempt at a joke that she didn't laugh, but sort of spurted, causing him to look at her over his shoulder, smirking playfully. Who was this man, she thought, standing before her? Surely he wasn't the same Draco she'd known most of her life. He turned back to Tarquin, finished putting him down, then came over to Hermione, offering her his hands. She obliged, allowing him to pull her up. But when she went to pull away and walk out of the nursery, he wouldn't let her go. She gave him a quizzical look, went to say something, but was silenced by a strong, carnal kiss, backing her out of the room, closing the door behind them.

"Draco," she breathed, her entire being overcome with that all-too-familiar tingling sensation. His head plunged down without giving her a reply, his lips hot and hungry on the taught flesh of her neck. She craned herself back, allowing him better access, her arms snaked around his shoulders, fingernails digging eagerly into his back.

Then, without warning, he bent down, scooped her up, and carried her into their bedroom. He tossed her on the bed, his hands caressing her body outside her clothes, then soon beneath, until he could stand it no longer and began tearing passionately at them, his breathing quickened, his eyes hazy and wanting.

Hermione braced herself for his entrance—this being the first time they would have had sex since Tarquin's birth—but was instead met with another surprise. Kissing down her stomach, he made his way between her legs, his fingertips toying with the dripping inner folds of her womanhood. She looked up, strained her neck, and saw him smirk devilishly up at her seconds before he licked his lips, then drove his tongue hard and deliciously into her, suckling and massaging the hot pink flesh in an almost loving manner.

Her toes curled, her back arched, Hermione's release was loud and much appreciated by her partner. He climbed back up on top of her, giving her flushed, warm cheeks tender kisses. When she had just about recovered from the sweeping wave of her intense orgasm, he pushed slowly inside her, looking into her eyes, searching them for what, she could not decipher.

When they were finished, they lay in bed, in each others arms, satisfied and breathing a bit harder than normal. A thin sheen of sweat covered their naked bodies. Hermione shifted her position, grabbed her discarded shirt that had landed on the headboard, and dabbed Draco's beaded forehead.

"Marry me," he whispered. She was so shocked she actually dropped her shirt over his face. He pulled it off, tossing it on the floor, and went on. "Hermione, what reason have you to deny it any longer? You told me—"

"Yes," she blurted out, then gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. "Yes, I'll marry you."

His face broke into a genuine and most un-Malfoy-ish grin. He reached into the top drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the small velvet box that held the ring he'd had custom made for Hermione all those months ago, on that fateful day he realized he was in love with a Muggle-born.

Flashback:

_Draco winced at he stood, his legs from the knees down caked with mud. His back cracked loudly as he righted himself; he left his broom on the ground._

_"That's game," Harry declared, landing gracefully beside him. Ron and Ginny, who was Draco's teammate, landed moments later. "What's gotten into you, Malfoy? You've never played this hard before."_

_"Yeah," Ginny added. "Harry and Ron always cream us. What's up?"_

_Draco grumbled something incoherent at them, then bent down to retrieve his broom and access the damage. This was what Harry and Ron did with Draco every few weeks, at Hermione's request; play Quidditch. Ginny, having caught wind of it after the second time, demanded she be involved as well. No one objected. Besides, Draco had needed a partner._

_"What was that?"_

_"Granger," he hissed, his hand clutched so tightly around the neck of his broom they thought for sure it would snap._

_"What's she been doing?"_

_"She's so damn insufferable!" he shouted, as if he were yelling at her instead of her friends. "Mood swings. Demands. She's like a damn infant!"  
_

_"Then why did you want her to move into the Manor?" Ron inquired casually. They were used to Malfoy's outbursts by now, and took them with a grain of salt. "Obviously the two of you bicker. Anyone could see this would happen."_

_Draco sneered up at the male redhead, then dropped his shoulders and groaned, defeated._

_"I mean, I know you wanted to protect her," Ron continued. "To make sure she delivered the baby ok, but you could have done that with her at her own flat. Face it mate, you love her. You wanted her close to you, so you could pretend you were a family. And, crazy as that sounds, I think it worked." He patted his stunned former-enemy on the back, smiling broadly. "I'd start shopping for a ring soon," he joked. "Marriage is the next step, right?"_

_Draco's eyes widened and he shoved Ron back, sending him into Harry, who fell back into Ginny. He was gone before any of them at time to react._

_**2 Hours Later...**_

_"I didn't think you were going to take Ron seriously."_

_Draco jumped several feet in the air, the whirled around to see Ginny standing behind him, smiling coyly._

_"What are you getting at?" he snapped. "I'm walking through."_

_"And you just happened to stop and tie your shoe outside the window of a jewelry dealer? Right, Draco."_

_"Well don't just stand there and pester me," he hissed, snatching her wrist. "I'm not a woman. I don't do these things."_

_Ginny only nodded and let him drag her into the shop. And even she didn't realize what a gorgeous ring he would purchase. The price tag was through the roof and when they walked out several long hours later, Ginny was shocked to silence._

_"What?" he asked, checking the ring for the hundredth time in the light of the street lamps. "You've had your jaw hanging like a snake since I bought it."_

_Ginny looked up, her eyes misted._

_"You really do love her, don't you?"_

_"I have to get home." And with a "pop" he was gone._

End Flashback:

Draco slipped the magnificent ring onto Hermione's finger, his soul seeming to expand and contract as he did so. This was it, this was the rest of their lives.

Hermione giggled with joy, pulling him to her so they toppled back onto the bed. "What made you change your mind?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, pointing to the ring. "You said no to me before."

"And _you_ said you were never going to ask me again."

He sighed, but answered her nonetheless.

"Because I knew you never would."

"Doesn't that bother you? That I would never bring it up? Why would you still want to marry me after that? I was terrible to you."

"And I wasn't? All through school? Come on, Hermione. You're entitled to a lot more than a few months apprehension."

"Draco, this is incredible," she whispered, nuzzling her face into his chest. "I know I always say it, but it's so damn strange that things ended up the way they did with us."

"Not really," he countered, and she could feel his lips smirk against her forehead. He would always enjoy a good argument, especially with her.

"How so, Mr. Mafloy?"

"Well, you see. You and I are very much a like, and very much the exact opposite of one another. Passionate, head-strong, stubborn, smart, volatile. If we didn't kill each other at this point, then being together only seems logical."

"You say it so matter-of-factly," she said, pursing her lips together in mock-annoyance. Though she could have very well been just that, see as he was describing their relationship in textbook terms, with no feeling or emotion.

"Well that's how it is with us, isn't it? We've proposed everything to each other. I proposed to watch Farsiris, you proposed you adopt her, I proposed we have a second child, and so on. It's all very much like a business arrangement and I like it that way. I don't think it could have worked any other way."

Now Hermione really was turning sour. She moved her head back and looked into her fiance's eyes.

"What?" he asked innocently, attempting to pull her to him. At this she groaned loudly, then went to get out of bed. He snatched her back to him, however, and forced their lips together. "Hermione," he laughed, stroking her soft, bushy hair.

"What?" she snapped, glaring heatedly at him.

"I love you."

* * *

Hey people! Remember me? Hahahha! Sorry about the delay. Busy schedule you know. But I'm back for this chapter. One more to go! Woooo! Then it's FINALLY finished. Yippy!

**REVIEW!!!**


End file.
